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howaboutcastiel · 1 year

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I Don't Know How

Summary: Well… what the hell do we do now? Steven orders some trinkets, Marc applies for some jobs. Steven’s unknown past starts to catch up with him. This chapter may be a bit underwhelming as a standalone, but it’s still got that sweet sweet angst and hopefulness that I pray keeps my readers well-fed. Masterlist.

Word Count: 3.4k (These will start getting longer soon) No proofreading we die like illiterates

When Marc and Steven finally got their living situation back into order, it became clear that there was not much for them to do to pass the time. Steven’s job at the museum was long gone, but not that he could complain. He was happy to never be yelled at by Donna again. Marc had no more work to do either—something he had not said in several years, as Khonshu had dragged him to every corner of the world in a constant thirst for vengeance.

They tried at first to enjoy the lack of responsibility. Steven picked over every book in his library, reading everything from textbooks on architecture to contemporary novels about teen-aged romance. Eventually, Marc had to stage an intervention when The Complete Works of Shakespeare had turned Steven’s entire inner monologue into iambic pentameter.

Marc, in contrast, had much more difficulty figuring out what to do with himself. He couldn’t sit still long enough to watch television—and unlike Steven, reading was definitely out of the question. His immediate thought was to take up woodworking or some other productive, creative skill, but that had quickly abandoned the thought of bringing raw materials into the already-crowded studio flat, even after Steven offered to get rid of some books to make room. Marc tried for a while to focus on bodybuilding, and it would have worked out wonderfully, except for the fact that he simply didn’t know when to quit and his alter didn’t take kindly at all to the sore muscles and chalky protein shakes. Finally, he was out of ideas. Marc had exhausted every coping skill he’d used since childhood. The only one he had left was choosing not to front at all, which Steven fought tooth and nail to remind him was counterproductive.

“I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do,” he admitted to Steven. “I can’t just sit around all day. It just makes more sense for you to handle the body. You have a routine, and I only seem to be making things worse every time I try to do something.”

Steven was having none of it. “You’re not making things worse. You just need to find something you enjoy doing that’s actually healthy. Why don’t you try video-games or something?”

“Call of Duty isn’t all that fun when you’re a combat vet, Steven.” He tried his hand at less violent games, actually starting to enjoy MineCraft quite a bit, but Marc felt ridiculous spending his time in front of a TV screen.

“Don’t you know how to just relax?” Steven had finally asked. It was more of a jab of frustration than anything, but Marc had taken the question to heart. When was the last time he had just relaxed?

“No. I guess I don’t.”

So, after several heated discussions, the two of them agreed that it was time to apply for a job. The pay wasn’t really a point of concern—Marc’s mercenary earnings totaled a small fortune that could support them for years to come—but the sense of purpose was something that both of them dreadfully needed. Steven enjoyed his leisure time, but he didn’t function well without the routine. If left with the body all day, he’d often forget to eat or he’d fall back into the habit of staying up most of the night. Marc needed the structure just as much. He was used to keeping himself busy, too busy to worry or leave his mind to wander to its darker places. A full-time job would allow him to continue that pattern, at least to the extent that Layla and Steven would let him.

They filled out applications in Steven’s name and in Marc’s, depending on who would likely be doing the bulk of socializing at work. Steven Grant applied for several positions at local colleges, narrowly avoiding any places with connections to the British Museum. He applied for marketing, teaching, research, and anything else that would permit him to continue collecting knowledge about random corners of the earth. The only issue, he contended, was that Steven didn’t have any certifications for jobs in such areas. Technically, his employment records at the museum were the only proof of experience he had, and “has read several hundred books in the last two months” was a far-from-convincing area of expertise to put on a resume.

“If we’re careful, I can get you some documents to bulk up your applications,” Marc finally offered when he saw Steven close one too many job applications requiring a college degree. “Maybe the guy that made your ID for the museum job is still available. Or I guess I could call Lagaro, if she’d even talk to me…”

“You made a fake ID for me?” Steven interjected. “How the hell d’you do that?”

Marc shook off the question. “I think it’s best that you don’t ask me that. Just be glad my guy’s good, or you’d never have gotten that job at the museum in the first place.”

“Suppose that’s true.” Steven tore his attention from the application sites, instead pulling up an Amazon tab to look for more home decor. The place was looking even more lackluster now that it was organized and free of sand. “I guess, now that I think about it, everything of mine must be a forgery.”

Marc grumbled at the Return of the Jedi poster on the screen. “If it makes you feel any better, so is mine. Hard to renew your passport when you’re an international fugitive.”

“Thanks, mate. That does not make me feel better.”

Steven had had to practically force the information out of Marc, but he’d come to learn that episode 6 was his favorite Star Wars movie. There was something about the final battle with Palpatine that he cherished a lot—a father protecting his son at the price of his own identity, maybe, or perhaps it was the notion of being able to choose good over evil no matter how far gone one already was. Regardless of the reason, Steven had noted the information and now he was ordering a poster to hang above their desk. It would accompany the Cubs poster that was already in shipping. Steven made a mental note to watch the trilogy once he finished his current book series. Despite his reluctance to admit it, Marc seemed very fond of the franchise, and he wanted to see what all of the fuss was about.

In the meantime of waiting for a few counterfeit degrees and certificates, Steven stepped aside for Marc to fill out some applications of his own. The jobs that he looked for were much simpler. Marc did best with manual labor, something that required less interaction with other people or at the very least wasn’t contingent on his customer service skills. He applied for a few landscaping jobs, stocking positions for chain stores, and clean-up crews for larger city events. He made quick work of matching Steven’s number of applications, mostly because he didn’t feel strongly about any of them.

By the time they had gotten Steven’s ‘credentials’ in place, they had already been rejected from most of the positions. Neither of them could remember the application process being this difficult before, but then neither of them had done much job-searching either. Marc’s discharge from the military had been the last time he was looking for work, and his position as a mercenary had not exactly followed the typical hiring process. Steven honestly couldn’t remember how he’d managed to get his museum job, but he wasn’t entirely convinced by Marc’s assurance that his connections to artifact dealers had nothing to do with it.

Steven managed to land an interview with an antique shop near Docklands, as well as an online university based in the United States. Marc landed two interviews as well, one for a dock-loading position at a furniture store, and one for the position of groundskeeper at an estate in the suburbs. They had butted heads over which position to take—given the choice of more than one of them, that is—until the interview with the owner of the West Wickham estate.

She had arranged the meeting to be in person. It wasn’t difficult to understand why, as she had had enough of a difficult time with the simple phone call to plan the interview. Her name was Mrs. Bamford—a feeble old woman who couldn’t have been younger than eighty-years old. The estate that she owned was nestled into the affluent suburbs in West Wickham, easily concealed by the endless rows of near-identical houses that ran in each direction. When Marc first arrived on the property, he had noted to Steven how overgrown the whole place was. Mrs. Bamford was obviously unable to do much upkeep herself, having the expected limited range of mobility of someone her age. She had beckoned him inside cheerfully and, aside from the layers of dust on all of the furniture, the inside of the near-mansion was meticulously ordered and clean.

“Such a nice day, isn’t it?” She had asked while offering him tea and biscuits. Marc politely declined, both because he wasn’t hungry and because the biscuits sitting on her kitchen table looked to be rock hard and nearly as old as her. Mrs. Bamford wore a permanent warm smile that only widened when she sat down opposite Marc in the dimly-lit study. He tried to sit straight, though the chairs with which she’d furnished the room were barely fit for adult bodies, more resembling children’s toys.

“I must admit, I was very surprised to read the qualifications on your application,” she began. Mrs. Bamford pulled her reading glasses down the bridge of her nose as she rustled the papers in front of her. “It’s quite impressive, really. I couldn’t imagine why you’d be looking for a job such as this. So tell me, Mr. Grant, why are you interested in groundskeeping for my estate?”

…Mr. Grant?

Oh. Shit.

Marc recalled now how he’d absentmindedly attached the resume to his application. He hadn’t even thought twice about checking if it was the right document—it had said resume in the title, after all. He must have applied for the groundskeeper job under Steven’s name, with Steven’s credentials. Well, Steven’s fake credentials, but all the same. Of course this woman was wondering why a man with experience exclusively in academia and marketing was wanting to work a shit-paying position as a glorified landscaper.

“Oh, well…” Marc tried to think up an explanation before the silence could draw out too long. He couldn’t very well tell her that the resume was fabricated, could he? He certainly wouldn’t correct her on the name she’d referred to him with. She would have some questions for sure, though, if Steven himself did peek out for a chat. “I’m in a… transitional stage right now. The office jobs are not—I don’t think I can do those anymore. I want something more simple. More, uh… hands on.”

Yeah, okay. That sounded convincing enough. Mrs. Bamford furrowed her brows at his response, clearly thinking it over with great scrutiny.

When she finally spoke up, he couldn’t make out her tone. “Do you want this job for what it is, Mr. Grant, or for what it’s not? I would like some assurance that you’re willing to commit yourself to maintaining my home.”

Marc was quick to respond. “Yes ma’am, I am willing to commit. I applied for this job because I want this job. I can promise you that I’ll take it very seriously.”

There was a rumbling feeling inside of Marc that grew as the interview went on. This old woman—her feeble stature, her soft and warm voice, her ability to assert herself in spite of them—made him anxious to please her. His answers grew more genuine and casual then, as it occurred to him that he truly did want this job. He wanted to take care of this woman, to make sure her home was as safe and beautiful as she wanted it to be. As she started to wrap up the interview, Steven’s voice echoed softly in his head. He hadn’t spoken this whole time, and Marc hadn’t even been sure he was listening.

This is what mum was supposed to be like.

And that little statement, as quick and quiet as it rang in their mind, was enough to make both of them as sure as a person could be that they certainly needed this job. The words cut into Marc, compressing his lungs and stabbing his tongue, and another warm smile was sent his way by Mrs. Bamford as he cleared his throat.

“You sure you wouldn’t like a cuppa, dear?”

He shook his head, pressing his mouth into a somber smile that substituted for the pleasantries he couldn’t manage to choke out. The interview had gone well up to this point, and he certainly wasn’t going to ruin it now with an emotional outburst. Marc’s chest rattled as he tried discreetly to suppress the burning in his lungs. Mrs. Bamford continued on explaining the expectations of the position, until a pregnant pause made his brain short-circuit for a moment.

He blinked at her, replaying the sentence she’d just said in his mind.

She’d just offered him the job.

Simple, flexible hours. Mediocre pay—not that it mattered. All that she asked was for him to check in with her regularly, at least twice a week, and to do it in person. She didn’t take kindly to fighting a losing battle with her email and flip-phone, which already pushed the limitations of her technological skills. As long as the grass stayed cut and the weeds stayed out of her flower garden, she wouldn’t complain. He touted a list of meticulous tasks for him to complete, but it wasn’t hard to grasp that she was just happy to have someone around to help. Marc promised himself he would check every box on her list, he’d keep the place right to her liking. Especially the flowers.

He and Steven shared enthusiasm in quickly and fervently accepting the job.

~~~

That night, when the two of them got back to their flat, there was a package waiting by Steven’s door. They knew immediately that it must be the Cub’s poster, plus a few other rogue decorations that Steven had bought. Marc let go of the body, leaving Steven to excitedly unpack everything. He’d bought several knickknacks that matched Marc’s sci-fi interests, but the item that warmed him the most was one he had almost forgotten about.

A new decoration for Gus’s tank.

Well, he supposed now that it wasn’t Gus’s tank anymore. It was decidedly not-Gus’s tank. Plus the new second fish that he’d left Marc to name, now aptly called ‘Fish.” The decoration was a stone Millennium Falcon meant to look like it had crashed at the bottom of the tank. It was hollow, allowing for fish to swim freely in and out of it, and it would be a nice contrast to the barren look of the tank as it was now. Steven pulled it out of its packaging, chuckling softly to himself as he held the spaceship in his hands.

“Hey Marc, bet you’ve always wanted to fly this thing, haven’t you?” Marc conveyed a gesture reminiscent of rolling his eyes at Steven. “Got to admit, it paints a grim picture though, doesn’t it? Having it sat at the bottom of the tank, like someone’s crashed it. We can just pretend that what’s-his-name made it out safely before that.”

“Han Solo.” Marc grumbled.

“Hmm?”

“His name. Han Solo.”

“Right,” Steven chuckled again. “Still haven’t got ‘round to watching those with you. Maybe we can watch them with Layla some time. Until then, though, guess I’ll just have to make up my own story for what a spaceship is doing at the bottom of my fish tank.”

Steven managed to place the decoration without making too much of a mess, but a few splashes of water did stream down the sides of the tank. He pulled everything off of the front of it, trying to save the postcards from water damage. It wasn’t until he found himself staring at the text “Welcome to Austria!” that Steven paused to examine the cards he’d only now realized were not from his mother.

“You sent all of these.” It wasn’t a question, more like a resignation to a fact that Steven was surprised hadn’t hit him up to this point. Marc surged forward as Steven’s breath began to quicken. His hands, their hands, were cold and shaky. For the first time, Marc had no idea what Steven was thinking.

“Yeah, bud. I sent them.”

There was silence for a while. Marc half-expected Steven to yell at him, or that the grief would overtake the both of them and they’d become a crying mess, just as they had been so often since their return to London. Nothing of that sort happened, though, and Marc grew more uneasy as the silence droned on. Steven flipped the card over in his hands, catching his nails on the edges and dragging them down in a rhythmic motion.

“That must have hurt you a lot,” Steven finally said. That was probably the very last thing Marc expected to hear.

“What?”

Steven’s grip turned harsh, crumpling the paper. “It must have been painful, yeah? Pretending you were her. Pretending that—that she was still here.

…pretending that she cared.”

Marc wanted to protest, to claim that it didn’t hurt him. To repeat the mantra he’d told himself this whole time, that he would do whatever it takes to keep Steven safe. No matter the cost. He couldn’t lie to himself now, though, and he damn sure couldn’t lie to Steven either.

“I thought it would help. I thought, maybe… you wouldn’t ask why she never answered the phone.”

“Yeah,” Steven sighed. “I think maybe I should have asked that sooner, shouldn’t I? I should have noticed so much of the stuff that was out of place. There was a lot of stuff out of place.”

“You weren’t supposed to notice, Steven. That’s the—” That’s the whole point of you, Marc had to stop himself from saying. “That’s why I did all of this. You needed the hope. The—the happiness.”

Steven shook his head.

“I just didn’t realize that every time you gave me that hope, every time you fought for my happiness…” He put his head in his hands, dropping the card on the table. “That it cost you so much of your own.”

~~~

Before he officially started, Marc took a day or two to survey the grounds of the estate. It wasn’t the overgrowth that unsettled him, but the sheer inaccessible condition of the entire property. He thought it was a wonder that Mrs. Bamford had managed to go about her life without falling on the muddy, moss-covered steps of the porch. Several of the stones in the path to her drive were cracked or moved and Marc could have torn the railing clean off of each of the staircases with a half-hearted yank. Some sort of accident was bound to happen.

He was already forming a plan to order new banisters as he left the grounds. Marc may not officially be starting until the first of the next week, but that didn’t stop him from planning to throw himself full-force into whipping the home into shape. Marc said goodbye for the night to Mrs. Bamford before shutting the gate behind him. He was half-way to the bus stop when a ping on his phone alerted him.

Layla: Leaving for Dubai in the morning. Sort of a last minute thing.

Then, a few beats later.

Layla: Wouldn’t mind seeing you before I leave. Just in case, you know?

Layla: You busy tonight?

So, by the time the bus arrived at the stop, Marc had himself a date.

~~~

Listen... I know this is not how the hiring process works. Leave me BE.

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @magicwithaknife @rmoonstoner @nervouslaught3r @unavoidabledirewolf @kbakery @mccn-bcys @gingermous @avatarofseshat @damreonsgirl @dragons-are-my-favorite @k8esilver @competentpotato @theconsultingdoctor10 @rayrlupin @moony-artemis @nerdory10 @valkyrieace

@ahookedheroespureheart @mt2sssss @loki-hargreeves @starfirette @celeste412 @avengersinitiative2012 @sifinskies @unspokenmoon @maplemind @mainstreambitchlife @hot-mess-express1 @toracainz @zarahbronstein @daughterofthequeen @am-3-thyst @romanarose @wand-erer5 @jake-g-lockley @in-between-the-cafes @alexismm @moonmoonboys

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #layla el faouly #moon boys #masterlist #fire within my soul

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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I really hate you

— Shinsou knows he shouldn’t trust villains. Especially villains who make his mind spin and stomach twist in joy. But there’s something about you that keeps him coming back for more.

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pairing: pro hero!shinsou hitoshi x villain fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, a little bit of juicy plot, pro hero!au, reader is a villain, betrayal, biting, marking, collaring, cursing, hate sex, rooftop sex, body liquids, angst

word count: 8,180

a/n: i like deception :) being a chem TA is pretty fun, except when im in lab for 8 am until 4 pm. listen,,, I also really liked this prompt I made last night because the one I had before wasn’t spicy enough for me anymore. I hope you enjoy though! like comment and share for the algorithm (jk been watching too many tikytokys)

kinktober day 8 main kink: collaring

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When the sun sets, and the moon is high in the sky, and the chill of the bitter cold winds raise ceaseless goosebumps on your arms, and the only people who are up are drunken businessmen and tiresome students, it is a common belief that this is when the freaks come out.

The freaks come out to play at night.

You are one of these freaks.

Heh.

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Shinsou nodded at his friends as he walked through the doors of the agency he worked at. Despite the power of his quirks ability, he was an underground hero (unless the ultra-rare occasion where they needed his quirk in the limelight); he was stationed within a large, well-known agency and was one of the founding heroes there at that. His ability to be hidden from the bright lights of the world were both easy and challenging; most of the world knew him as the kid from UA’s Sports Festival that went toe to toe with nearing number one Pro-Hero Deku. It both irked and embarrassed him when that event was brought up; on the one hand, it was true! He had nearly beat Midoriya during that final stage. Yet, on the other hand, their memories seemed to recall some crazy quirk-fueled fistfight where Midoriya had broken his entire body in the duration of their fight.

‘No,’ he often found himself responding back to the gentlemen and ladies who would awe at his school-day adventures, ‘there was a fistfight, but Midoriya handled it without using his quirk except to snap him out of my quirk.’

They always looked embarrassingly horrified by their faulty memory when they pulled the clip up on Youtube, their bows quick in apology before they made off.

But people recognizing him from that was rare as it gets, fortunately even with the large agency stapled to his alias, he was quite good at his job—a shadow in the night, an urgent whisper to the villain freaks who roamed the night.

“Ah, Shinsou-chan!” Kaminari pouted, his body draping over his purple-haired friend as Shinsou moved to change from his regular clothes into the black triple-weave kevlar of his hero suit. He had once sported a black cotton-like costume akin to Aizawa, but after many, many gun shootings and stabbing incidents, he figured he needed something sturdier.

“What is it?” he asked, rising up from his bent position so that Kaminari couldn’t take advantage of his slouched form.

Shinsou’s tired, purple eyes met the exhausted pair of Kaminari.

“Today was so hard,” Kaminari sighed, his lip still put into the stupid pout, and he slumped onto the bench behind Shinsou. His feet were spread before him, fingers drumming onto his directional equipment. “Since it’s winter, the night comes sooo much earlier now. I swear some weirdos really appear out of the woodworks when the night comes! Like just before I was going to make my way back here, I swear I saw Aizawa-sensei hanging out on the rooftops like some super-secret ninja, right?”

Shinsou frowned. He knew his mentor turned friend was actually on vacation at the moment in Hawaii. Something he thought, at the very least, was long overdue.

“Aizawa is in Hawaii right now,” Shinsou quickly spoke, his hands buckling the belt on his pants, before moving to lace up his boots.

“Oh fuck, I told Todoroki he was in Seoul,” Kaminari cursed, the palm of his hand hitting his forehead.

“Good going, who knows what weird message or gift he’ll end up sending to Aizawa now,” Shinsou couldn’t help the small smirk from spreading on his face at that note.

After being accepted into the Hero Course over in UA, Shinsou couldn’t help but be initially disappointed when he was placed within Class 1-B — Class 2-B at that point — simply because his mentor was with Class 1-A. The initial disappointment didn’t last very long when he got to know the rest of Class 2-B better, and he saw that while 2-A possessed raw talent, 2-B were more well-defined with a much bigger take-no-shit mentality that he appreciated more. That and 2-A were being strangled by a new villain of the month far too often, and Shinsou just wanted nothing more than to graduate from high school.

Still, his lack of enrollment in Class 2-A didn’t mean that he didn’t see the rambunctious, nearly intolerable group of twenty in class 2-A. As a matter of fact, he thought he saw them a bit more than he’d like. Aizawa was his mentor, so he understood seeing him around, but for some reason, 2-A was never too far away. As soon as Shinsou was admitted into the Hero Course and the two hero classes had weekly meals together, which meant that to him, just the slightest bit, 2-A felt like an unwanted, annoying, ugly stepchild.

So no, Shinsou could not tell you 2-A’s inside class jokes, but he knew a lot more about the forty other hero students than he’d ever like to admit.

And through his knowledge, he knew that the ever so powerful Todoroki Shouto was an idiot, probably a bigger one than Kaminari.

“I hate that you call Aizawa-sensei just…” Kaminari trailed off, a disgusted shiver running down his spine as if it sickened him to remove the single formality.

“Aizawa,” Shinsou said once more.

“Stop.”

“Aizawa.”

“Hitoshi!”

“Aizawa.”

“PLEASE!”

“Shouta.”

Kaminari hit the floor, his chest heaving with fake, bitter sobs while Shinsou couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his over-dramatic friend on the ground. He had to admit, Shouta felt weird on his tongue too.

“Stop making a huge deal about how Aizawa and I are closer than you are,” Shinsou half-joked half-told-the-truth.

He was more than well aware of his mentor’s former students trying to become even closer to their beloved homeroom teacher. All doing it in their own ways, all relatively unsuccessful because unknown to them (but not Shinsou), Aizawa already loved them all thoroughly, not that he’ll ever tell them.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO SHAVE OFF MITTENS FUR!”

Oh yeah, that had lost a lot of love points for Kaminari.

Sighing softly, Shinsou placed his newly replaced coiled capturing weapon around his shoulders, and his artificial vocal cords mask onto his chest until he was off on patrol.

“Why’d you think you saw Aizawa?” he asked again, trying to finish the conversation so that he could leave. It felt like it was going to be a long night if Kaminari confirmed where his thoughts were already trailing.

“Hm?” Kaminari finally looked up from his puddle of tears on the floor, tears streaking all over his face, small charges of electricity humming off it. He blinked once, twice, his eyes shooting to the ceiling as if the answer was there before his fist came down to hit his open palm in a flash of realization. “Oh, I remember! There was this person, obviously not Aizawa-sensei, standing by the edge of a building watching everyone below. Hair whipping in the wind and his capturing weapon fluttering around them!”

Just as Shinsou thought.

“Where did you see her?”

“Her?!”

“Where, Kaminari?”

“Uh… well, I guess by Gramps convenience store. Don’t tell me this is some super sexy megafan of yours! Wait… do tell me, or… no, I’ll get jealous if you’re having rooftop sex with — eh?! where are you going?! Hitoshi?!”

“My shift started two minutes ago,” Shinsou explained, one of his hands lifting in a wave as he exited the locker room, his heart hammering quickly, knowing just who he was going to need to track down tonight.

…

It was dark.

Shinsou’s eyes squinting as he hopped from one rooftop onto the other, his capturing device assisting him in clearing the dooming crevice. He wasn’t exactly the most physically threatening, and unfortunately, that also meant he wasn’t exactly the greatest at parkour type movements, although he was getting better. Maybe had he started to ask for earlier shifts, where he would be out when the sun was, he could get better faster.

It was tricky with only the moonlight to guide him, but that’s what he could get at the moment.

As he scuffled through the gravel rooftop of one of the abandoned buildings, Shinsou found himself squinting at the figure in the distance. The one perched near what Kaminari oh so fondly refers to as Gramps convenience store.

He studied the form of the picture still person, noticing if it wasn’t for the slight wind through your hair and twisting capturing weapon around your neck, he would think you’re a statue. But he knows better now, he’s known better for quite some time now.

“What’re you doing out here, y/l/n?” Shinsou found himself speaking the moment he stepped behind you, hands shoving into his pant pockets.

You didn’t move, nor did you respond, your body still completely still while peering down at the empty world fascinated on who knows what.

“Y/l—”

“How can I help ya, Mindjack-senpai?” you interrupted him, your gaze still not removed from the world below the building. “I hear it’s supposed to be a busy night tonight.”

Shinsou paused, his brows scrunching at your words.

It was plain to see to Heroes that you were a villain, you did what you wanted when you wanted, whatever the price, but if there was one thing Shinsou had learned with this rather weird cat and mouse game the two of you played time and time again was that you didn’t lie.

What was happening?

“A busy night?” Shinsou questioned, his quirk still unactivated, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to Brainwash an answer out of you anyways. “Where at?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Hero?” you teased slowly, and Shinsou had to deny the way that the way your head finally turned to lock eyes with his made his stomach clench.

It meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

“You know what happens when you slight me,” Shinsou couldn’t help but warn, the bandages on his neck rising under his command. But your eyes blinked slowly, lips spreading into a lazy, cunning smile.

“And you know what happens when you underestimate me,” you returned, fingers gliding against his old weapon — yes, old weapon. Just two months ago, just before your last arrest, you had viciously stolen it from him, your foot crushing his vocal cords while you managed to pry the weapon from his broken fingers. “Anyways, Mindjack-senpai, it’s a bit unethical of you, a hero, to be threatening me in such a way! I’m just a poor girl waiting for the love of my life to show up.”

“And have they?”

You blink, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you nod, “I got him right where I want him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Shinsou snapped despite the lick of warmth against his chest and cheeks. “I’ll have you arrested again.”

Now, this has you turning from the edge of the building, you sit on the ledge of the building, fingers supporting your head as you stare at him without fear. Shinsou really fucking hated how fast you riled him up.

“Arrested? But Mr. Mindjack-senpai, didn’t you know?” you ask, the taunt evident in your voice, the twinkle in your eye devastatingly bright. “I’m a changed woman. I’m what you call a hero now. You wouldn’t arrest an innocent heroine, could you?”

“You’re hardly innocent,” Shinsou responded back smoothly and deftly, not at all yet entirely impressed by you. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He blamed his deep impressions of you on the stupid black and purple attire you wore.

“Well, you know as well as I do that I just got out, but I feel like except what happened two days ago, I’ve really changed,” you emptily promise, pushing off the ledge, sauntering closer to Shinsou until he felt the tip of your nose brush against his. “I’ll make sure to think about you whenever… bad feelings come up.”

He prays you don’t see the scarlet flush on his face.

You’re already back at the ledge when he blinks, and he watches you raise two fingers to your temple in a mock salute as you wink at him.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but two blocks east, seven blocks south from the heart of Tokyo is where you’ll find trouble,” you inform him, dropping the salute as you turn to run.

But Shinsou wants his damn weapon back.

“Y/l/n, wait!”

“Yes—?”

You froze at the ledge, your eyes spacing out, and Shinsou sighed, moving to collect his weapon from you until you suddenly dove off the building, a burst of cheerful laughter on your tongue.

“Oh, I forgot to tell ya!” you screamed from the next building over, your fingers threading through the alloy metal cloths. “I got some earbuds just for when you’re around! They make your voice into electrical signals just for me! So guess what?!”

Shinsou didn’t need you to complete that sentence in order for him to realize what you had just gotten your hands onto.

As long as you wore those, his quirk was useless against you.

Despite knowing that a villain held the key to his demise as a hero, he chuckled, running a hand through his short purple hair.

You really were something.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Shinsou never took himself as an especially suspicious person.

He figured he had days where he was suspicious of some people the correct amount, especially when they had the most painted on emotions he’s ever seen. Some days he was overly trusting and blamed tight smiles on something acute to nerves. Without meaning to brag, he felt like he was healthily suspicious of people, unlike others he knew who wouldn’t dare to interact with anyone new or would spill their darkest secret to anyone who would listen.

But there was something entirely, conspicuously suspicious with how you were behaving.

Winter had long passed, the long winter nights and graveyard shifts of endless freak encounters had worn a hole in his patience and boots. The spring season was beginning to end, and the warm days and nights of summer were setting on his skin.

Six full months of you, the first-ever villain he had fought as a Pro Hero, the first-ever villain to have openly flirted with him and to have him flirt back, being suspiciously… kind.

Every shift of his, he would find you waiting for him on one of the regular rooftops. Every time he would check in with the database to make sure you weren’t wanted for some crime to find that you were innocent. Every time he would feel pissed off because you wore those earbuds that rendered his quirk useless and you somehow mastered the capturing weapon within weeks.

Now Shinsou didn’t pout, he really didn’t, but there were moments where you would appear from behind him, finger swiping down his spine as you effortlessly twirled around him, a stupid sly grin on your face as you held onto the collar of his hero costume.

“Don’t pout, Mindjack-senpai, I’m here now,” you’d purr each and every time.

He loved the dangerous purr to your voice, the way your eyes hooded over, peering at him through your eyelashes, but he knew better. He had to know better. It wasn’t that villains were terrible people per se; he’d learned a lot of villains were just thoroughly sick of being mistreated (and he had wondered what would have happened if he had been denied from UA… would he be one?). He knew that for the most part, you were quite harmless, merely sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, living a life to your personal laws and rules.

It didn’t make you evil, merely dangerous.

But he had a job to do where even if it was justifiable to beat the ever-living shit out of your sister's abuser, nearly murdering him in rage and refusing to calm down when Shinsou had arrived on the scene with the use of his quirk didn't hold up well in court. It had started this long chain of events where you had absolutely hated him for a time as you were forced to stay overnight in a jailhouse. And many horrible days afterward where you performed what Shinsou had thought to be illegal actions only to find that no, they weren’t. As a matter of fact, entirely legal because Japan had yet to update their codes.

Long after he had discovered this, you had returned to actual crime, your physical ability growing by leaps and bounds as he ran after you after catching you doing something dangerously illegal. Shinsou was a proud hero and was incredibly proud of the impact he made as a Pro Hero, but it was clear as day, even to him, that he often let you slip through his fingers. Like a child opening their cupped fingers and wondering why the water had left.

He wasn’t sure what it was about you that made him act this way, but he certainly didn’t wish to find out.

“So what’s on the schedule today, Mindjack-senpai?” you asked, appearing from the shadows of the rooftop, not scaring Shinsou in the slightest as this was always where you greeted him. “Are we saving the Prime Minister today? Stealing — I mean, protecting those stupid bedazzled eggs in the museum? Perhaps solving an unsolvable case?”

“Smooth,” Shinsou snarked, his tired purple eyes piercing through your bright ones that seemed undoubtedly excited. “How many times do I gotta tell you that there aren't that many actual case assignments? Besides, most team-ups happen in the morning when I’m asleep.”

“Being a hero is so boring!”

“You’re not a hero.”

“Am too!” Shinsou snorted, turning on his heel and began walking away, listening to your footsteps running after him to keep up with his long paces as you cried that out.

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Shinsou stopped, his eyebrow raised in slight forced annoyance but much more amusement, when you spun in front of him, hand on his chest, cheeks puffing with your heavy breathes.

“Look!”

Tilting his head back, Shinsou grunted when your phone was shoved in his face. “What is this?”

“Hero Commission Regulation Handbook, page fifty-four, Article three, sub-article twenty-three,” you chirped, turning your phone back to yourself so that you may read it correctly. “It states that besides attending hero school like a bunch of nerds, civilians have the option of securing internships with approved Pro Heroes and work side by side with them for six months! Once finishing their internships, said Pro Hero must simply sign my licensing papers and bam, a hero I’ll become.”

“And which sniveling hero did you get to do your dirty work?” Shinsou scoffed, not at all buying the notion that you of all people wanted to become a hero. A vigilante at best, an anti-hero much more realistically, and staying a villain as default.

“You,” you smirked, winking at him before turning on your heel and sauntering off, knowing full well the patterns of his routines.

Shinsou sighed, but he let a familiar smirk fall on his face as he walked after you, enjoying the way you glanced back at him with your wide clear eyes. But that suspicious, gut feeling didn’t leave his core, no matter how sweet and beautiful he found your smile.

“So, Mindjack-senpai, who are we apprehending today?”

“You want me to sign your paper this entire time, and you’ve been addressing me as senpai?” Shinsou commented, his weapon shooting off to a nearby building, snapping straight in his hand when it was ready. “Where are your manners? It’s Mindjack-sensei to you.”

He didn’t wait for your response, choosing to swing off the ledge of the building with no hesitation, but a part of him wished he could have heard the sound of your laugh he only seemed to hear through the streaming, far away air.

…

While usually, Shinsou didn’t have actual cases during his patrols, this job, after all, was much more spontaneous than anything else, today was different.

Today was different altogether, really.

First off, he showed up to work when the sun was still up just to get his meeting intel down in time for him to be out on the scene in time. He had nodded plenty, silently taking in Creati’s information on the drug cartel they wanted to in the next few weeks take down for numerous charges. The creation of dangerous, illegal drugs, prostitution rings, robbery, and murder being the main ones. It was some bigger stuff, so they needed all the evidence they could get.

Shinsou stared at the faces of the more prominent names of the cartel, studying every crook, nanny, and scar on their faces as Creati simply ended with where they focused down onto where their drug creating facilities were at, but still needed confirmation. “They’re pretty difficult to get to without knowing where they are,” Creati admitted, handing him a GPS. “You’ll need this.” He would be the first to start evidence gathering; after all, his old classmates would begin tomorrow.

So he had left, going to the first hideout and finding out it was completely empty. Not a single spec of evidence remaining, not a secret door or trap to get him to where they could be hiding from sight.

So was the next.

And the next.

Something sat weirdly in his stomach as he began walking towards the final one on his list, and he froze when he saw lights shifting and moving from around the building. Quickly, Shinsou hopped to higher grounds, his phone already out, ready to take pictures. He lay low to the rooftop, practically army crawling to get to place to place as he neared the windows on the rooftop, allowing him to peer in onto the building he was scouting to find precisely what he needed.

The entire building was a drug production spot.

His eyes scanned the building floor, singling out ten of the twelve main heads on the cartel, and he smirked. Perfect.

“Whatcha doing here, Mindjack-sensei?” your voice whispered millimeters from his ear, and Shinsou bit his tongue harshly to keep the instinctual scream from ruining his covert operation.

He snapped his head over to you, eyes slightly furious, eyebrows knitted tightly as he looked to see you leaning toward him. You were in a different outfit today, completely black, drowning you out in the night. He blinked; even the capturing weapon he had still been unsuccessful in stealing back from you was pitch black.

“What’re you wearing?”

“Do you like it?” you asked, straightening up and twirling for him as if you were wearing a magnificent dress and not personally created ‘hero’ clothes. “Ah, I hoped you would! Sorry, I had to get rid of the purple. I just felt it made me look too cute, right? I know I can’t have villains falling for me like you had me falling for you!”

Shinsou did not blush, no he didn’t, “shut up.”

“So what are we looking for today?” you asked, pressing down onto the floor beside him. Your arm touching his as pressed your face towards the glass. “Is this a stakeout?”

“Less stakeout, more information gathering,” Shinsou grumbled, typing some needed notes onto a file on his phone. It seemed to him that there was plenty here for the drug making charges. “We’re trying to get their bigger names caught in the action.”

“Oh, I thought heroes just burst in whenever they wanted, that’s what they do in the movies. Plus, you always threaten me with being arrested with no evidence,” you giggle, shifting closer to the glass, smile wide on your face.

“After saying that, say goodbye to me signing off that paper of yours,” he grunted, slipping his phone back into his pocket while you scrunch your nose at him. Shinsou couldn’t help but stare at you as the palms of your hands supported your chin as you hummed some song he couldn’t recognize.

“Ne, Mindjack-sensei, did you get the big boss?” you asked, your finger pressed against the cold glass, and Shinsou frowned, returning his head to the glass.

Right where you were pointing was, in fact, the head of the cartel. He was horrendously scrawny, holding no sense of fear or malice, and Shinsou wondered what his quirk could be that he was in charge of an operation such as this one.

“Oh, his right-hand man came too! All twelve are here!” you cheered quietly as Shinsou took documentation on his phone, and that suspicious rock in his stomach finally made sense at this second.

“Y/l/n?” he asked, head turning toward yours, tired eyes glinting with emotions he didn’t know how to handle.

“Mhm?”

“How did you know there were twelve main members, and how’d they look like?”

Silence.

Shinsou’s lips pulled back into a snarl, his canines glinting as he locked eyes with yours that were wide with shock and disbelief.

“How’d you find me—?”

He watched you lean away from the glass, fingers shooting to your earpieces. And with the inkling of suspicion sprinting through his veins, the purple-haired hero still found that he moved too slow.

BOOM!!!!

He blacked out when his body flew with the explosion.

...

Ringing.

Pain.

Numbness.

Shinsou could only hear ringing in his ears as soot and ashes fell down from the sky, falling on his body, coating his gaping, open mouth as he tried to breathe, trying to calm himself. Was he bleeding? Was he dying? Where was the explosion from? Were you okay?

His eyes blinked heavily, altogether so irregularly that Shinsou couldn’t help but feel he was out of his body when you reappeared in his sight. Your hand pressing to his cheeks sympathetically, eyes truly hurt as you shook your head, hand grabbing into his bloodied pocket to take his phone.

“I’m sorry,” your voice seemingly whispered, just loud enough for him to hear you through the ringing from the explosion. “You weren’t supposed to be here, Mindjack… these are the scumbags that hurt my friends and family. I couldn’t let them live. Plus… I didn't have a choice, they were competition.”

He spluttered, the warm goo of blood and saliva choking out of his mouth as he convulsed on the ground, his eyes watching as you went.

“See you later, hero.”

He tried to yell at you to come back, that you were a coward, a fucking menace that he would destroy the next time he saw you, but his voice failed to work. Nothing was working except his pain receptors, his heart that kept shoving blood into his lungs that he kept spitting up, but he saw flashing white and red lights as unconsciousness sank its jagged teeth into his neck.

An ambulance was here.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It took four months to recover from the accident.

His hearing had been fucked up. Not even medical quirks had managed to save his hearing entirely. But hey, it did get him the chance for Bakugou Katsuki to come to his room, called him pathetic, and showed off his own hearing aid that he had needed since his quirk had damaged his own hearing. Not to mention that for the past four months, he had been teaching him sign language just in case.

He wasn’t alone, it seemed.

But it was four months, and he had recovered fully.

The hearing aid he required in his left ear still made his ear ache in pain, and he found that he liked it much better shoved in the back of a draw than anything else. But he knew it was dangerous to be a hero without his full hearing. If it hadn’t been for Bakugou’s trial through this all and the help of Hatsume Mei to create a more appropriate hearing aid for heroes, he wasn’t sure if he would still be here — working that is.

But today — or well, night — was a new day, and he was going to push ahead. He could do this, no sweat, no problem.

Well, that was until an all too familiar figure sat perched on a ledge on his usual route, legs swaying in the air as uncontrolled rage bubbled in his chest. It wasn’t entirely your fault, but a large part of Shinsou was embarrassed to have been caught up in all of this because of you. He had trusted you above all else even when his instincts yelled at him not to because he knew what it was like to be painted as a villain, and he had hoped by letting you in more, you would have changed. He thought you had.

But you hadn’t.

Not one bit.

…

You sat at the edge of the building, already having heard the loud crunch of Shinsou’s shoes against the gravel rooftop, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t know how to face him, how to tell him that you were both sorry that he got caught up in your schemes, but that you weren’t sorry for what you had done. Those bastards had it coming.

“Give me one good reason not to push you off the building,” Shinsou growled, probably much louder than he intended.

Instead of answering, you shrugged.

You hadn’t brought the earbuds that would keep you from being immune to his quirk, and you slightly feared what would happen if you gave in to the whispers of his words. Would you blackout in a daze before coming back to normal only when placed in the prefectures jail? Would he actually attempt to kill you? You had no idea.

But you turned on the ledge, looking at his tired purple eyes that shook with his anger and betrayal. You had done a number on him.

“So, now you can’t seem to respond back to me?” he laughed bitterly, his teeth bared into a way too fierce smile, one that made your heart thump and sent a shiver down your spine. “What game do you think you’re playing?”

You still didn’t answer as you planted your feet back onto the rooftop and stood up, watching as his binds flared to life. Dancing and weaving around him in a dangerous coil of fabric, like a frilled dragon lion lizard extending its skin in a warning.

“Should’ve taken you down with that first time I found you,” he spat, his eyes narrowing as you took steps toward him, and the weapon seemed to snap at you. “Did your sister pull the same bullshit on him as you did me? Is that why he became ‘psycho?’”

Now that one nearly got the response out of you as fury thrummed through your veins as you were suddenly nose to nose. You couldn’t help it, but you knew there was no point in explaining your reasoning for doing what you did because he would never understand; he couldn’t.

So as his eyes flashed dangerously from your eyes, his breathing coming down harshly against your upper lip, the hatred he had for you (that was probably reignited from a year ago and make it double) simmered between the air between you and him. You couldn’t resist.

Your lips pressed against his in a simmering hot kiss.

Shinsou shoved you away, as quickly as you had pressed your mouth against his, but you were back on him before he could utter a word. Only that this time, he kissed you back with scalding, burning heat.

You never really knew how much smaller you were to Shinsou until you were on the tips of your toes to kiss him, his hands practically burning you as they gripped onto your hips, pulling you so close there was hardly any room to breathe. His kiss was hateful, spiteful, and full of unspoken passion the two of you had never addressed during the period that was good. It had been so good, but he was a hero, he would never understand.

His teeth bit harshly onto your lower lip, and you hissed, your fingers burying into his hair and tugging at the root of his hair as his tongue came and pressed dangerously against yours. His tongue was hot against yours, he was undoubtedly much more hotblooded than you were, and with his emotions heightened, he exhausted what.

Tongues clashed against one another, but it wasn’t even a battle of dominance; it was a battle to find who surrendered. There was to be no joy or excitement for whichever tongue prevailed, just the burning of the tears falling down your face and the acid taste on your tongue as he suckled on your pink muscle.

Your eyes were partially opened, watching his angry yet blank purple eyes meet yours, neither one of you allowing yourself to give in to the pure elation and sensation this was bringing. No, he wouldn’t allow it, and you wouldn’t have it.

The stubble of his beard scratched into your skin repetitively, feeling like sandpaper against your own skin as the kiss deepened, consuming the both of you on a whole new level as your crotches ground roughly against one another. Hisses and groans couldn’t stop pouring from your collective mouths, both of you hating yet craving more from this all. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he spoke to you like this, would he do something to you while you were like this? So when his massive, thick hand made contact with the underneath of your ass, scooping up your leg so that your covered cunt could now correctly grind into his hard cock, the weapon you stole from him a year ago bound around his neck, choking him, collaring him.

“I like my bitches chained up,” you mocked against his lips, but somehow, someway, Shinsou liked it.

You groaned loudly at the way Shinsou gasped for air against the makeshift collar, your grin widening as you nodded your head, pulling away from his mouth as the grin became a smirk. “Didn’t think you wanted to talk when we were fucking?” you lied, teeth biting onto his lower lip and sucking on it as your hips oh so artfully bucked against his covered cock. You could feel the growing slick in your panties beginning to feel uncomfortable with the lack of proper friction, and your head lolled backward when he slammed your core against his, devilishly grinding against you.

He picked up your other leg and dropped the both of you to the floor, the uncomfortable gravel stone floor digging painfully into your back, but you could care less. Shinsou’s mouth was already back on your body, scratchy, scraping kisses placed on your neck, making you moan out, legs wrapping around his waist as you cant your hips upward to grind into him.

Unamused with the lack of his hands on your body, you took his arms that were planted at your shoulders and pressed his heavy palms on your breasts, avoiding the pissed look in his eyes as his teeth marked you painfully. You actually shrieked in pain. The feeling of his teeth tearing through the skin on your neck, while his finger kneaded and pulled at your covered breasts. It was unashamedly painful with how he played with your breasts. He seemed to grow happier with every sound of distress you made.

Fisting your hands back into his hair, you pulled him back to your face level, your eyes fluttered at the way his clothed erection carded perfectly between your sopping wet cunt. Blood stained his mouth, making his teeth slightly orange in tint, and you clicked your teeth in partial anger and pain as your neck throbbed. Slamming your lips back against his, you almost gagged at the taste of iron that soared through your senses as his tongue wasted no time to seek yours out. His lips and fingers were so ardent, manipulating your every body movement, cry of pain and pleasure as thrumming hatred for the stupid, stubborn hero above you still coursed through your veins.

Sweat began to form at your temples as your lips gilded against his, your hips snapping up to meet his grinding hips, and an airy response keened from his mouth as you moaned loudly.

His incessantly grinding hips were making your legs shake with stimulation, your whines and whimpers for more opening like a flood gate as you finally stuck a hand between the two of you and shoved his pants to his knees. You dropped your legs from around his waist, and he assisted you in ripping your pants off from one side of your body, the fabric still clinging to your right leg, but you could hardly care. All you wanted was for him to plant his cock into your blazing heat and to fuck you, to claim you here on this rooftop that started and would end it all. You wanted him, his cock, and him.

“Fuck me,” you begged into his ear, and his back shivered with your words. You hooked your leg around his waist, carding his hot, throbbing cock against your soaked pussy, as you rolled your hips. “I want you to fuck me, fill me with his cock, and cum deep within me to show me just how much you fucking hate me.”

You cried out when his hand shot down to his cock to line it up with your squeezing, dripping hole, his mouth once again covering yours, kissing you aggressively, fueled with an emotion you could taste as bitter hatred. Your legs trembled as the tip of his cock continued to press against your entrance, not entirely entering it, not giving you friction to send you into a euphoric end. You could help the snarl that passed through your lips, your eyes angry beyond repair as the head of his cock continued to deny you. Whenever you tried to grind down, to force your walls around his cock, he went down with you, he wouldn’t allow it, and your cunt clenched against nothing as he gave you nothing.

Shinsou wheezes out a bitter chuckle, his hand raising his cock from between your soaked folds to slap his heavy, thick, and long length against your throbbing clit.

Hatred and desire soak your body, and you needily rub your clit against his cock, your hands shoving up his shirt to feel the scarred pattern of his back as you give him new ones that were produced by your nails.

“Don’t tease me, hero,” you snapped, fingers tearing into his skin to draw blood. “You fuck my pussy so good, right now, or I promise next time you’ll go out with that bomb too.”

That seems to do what you want because before those words settle on your nerves. His cock penetrates deeply within you, bottoming out entirely as your head thrashes back against the gravel of the floor, throbbing pain from that entirely ignorable because fuck, his cock was stretching you out. He was so thick, so fucking veiny that you could feel the pulsating veins on his cock pressing against your puffy, sensitive walls. You scream his name as the pleasure-filled pain pulses within you, your hips thrashing, wildly bucking in your attempt to calm from the sudden placement of his cock.

“Why are you so fucking big?” you splutter, a whining pitch to your voice as you clawed at his back, trying to separate your joined bodies but also trying to get even closer. “It’s so big, my walls feel like! Oh fuck, Shinsou, it feels like Imma split in two!”

It seems that Shinsou holds some great pride over those worse, because he growled deep in his chest, and his hips begin to fuck into you. It sends your hands to the base of his neck, clutching onto his skin with hope as you scream in pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the wet squelches fill the air and tickle your ears. The head of his cock keeps dragging against your spongy wall, brushing over your g-spot over and over again as if he knew where it was, as if it was common knowledge as he fucked you further into the gravel floor. It didn’t even hurt anymore, your skin singing with joy as his cock fucked you stupid.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me!” you whined, and Shiinsou made an approving noise.

He grunts as your cunt flutters and clenches around him, his balls hitting your skin in possibly bruising force and speed. And his pelvis crashing against your stings ever so slightly, but has you begging for more, sobbing for more.

Your vulgar words and moans are unstoppable at this point, your legs and thighs trembling as they are still circled around him, sometimes assisting you in coming up to meet his driving, drilling hips. You whine into his ear, your mouth pressing blind and sloppy kisses against his slick with sweat neck.

It’s when both his hands bring your hips up to him, his cock finally bottoming out entirely within you, does the most primal moan rip through your mouth. You convulse underneath him, trying to move as the head of his cock buries against your cervix, poking your womb with power and speed that has you swearing behind the blackness of your vision that this sensation brings. You can see the entire galaxy, the world lighting up when his cock leaves the thin wall, and you gasp, shocked that the heat and slick of your cunt is still going. You tremble underneath him, wordless cries pittering from your mouth while he bites on your earlobe.

You soon readjust to the numbing pleasure, the bruising pleasure, and pain that comes with his cock slamming against your cervix. The way that he thrusts up into you, stretching out your walls far more than you were ever used to.

A pathetic cry escaped your lips when he rolled over so that you were now on top, your body bouncing as soon as it could against him. You keened and whined, feeling the top of his cock licking your cervix, and you spluttered.

“Fuck this angle, this angle and your cock!?” you stammered, fists curling into his collar as you rode him, his hips snapping up into yours with that same animalistic power and speed.

His pace is irreplicable, near maddening with every successive thrust of his hips. Each snap, each wet noise sends you close to the edge, your inner walls clenching and milking his length with greater power as your senseless cries fill the night sky. His grip on your waist will leave purple bruises later tonight, you just know it, but the fire in his eyes as you lock fazes is enough for you to be okay with it.

Its intensifying, deepening, fire erupting in your core as your cunt throbs.

Sweat, tears, and spit fall from your face, and Shinsou surges upward, kissing you with everything he can. It's a maddening escape of lust and need and hatred being exchanged, saliva spreading between you, covering your hot faces with slimy coldness, But you keep him close, your mouth drinking him in more, begging for more as your tongue sinks into his mouth.

His fingers rake down from your back. Past the curve of your clapping ass and onto your powerful thighs that helped in your action to claim his cock. Your joined mouths, both parted in silent screams, wordless begs for more, branding curses that spoke of his hatred for you, your hatred of his job.

Fuck this, fuck that, fuck, fuck, “fuck!”

You held each other impossibly close. Despite the barriers of shirts and armor separating your chests, you swore you could feel his hammering heart flush against your chest. A steady, consistent beat reminding you that this was a one-time thing, that this was yet another bomb with only one explosion to it.

“S-Shit!” his voice finally managed to escape from the makeshift collar, and you nearly sobbed at the sound of his gravelly, husky voice.

You still hated him, you really hated him and his stupid deep voice.

Your back arches as the control you had on collar suddenly slacks, as if you had never had it there, and his own noises of sex, of hatred, of pleasure fill and echo in your ear. You can hear him mumbling something in your ear, your head pathetically nodding, tears streaming down your face only you can’t seem to figure out why. The throbbing pressure in your stomach made you near uncomfortable as his cock sank and disappeared from your cunt, your walls' vice grip becoming tighter and tighter and tighter.

There’s vigor, untapped lust, pent up frustration as he rolls you both around, pushing you back into the gravel and dives his length into your wet, loud cunt without mercy. You were overworked, over thrilled, the pressure of your coming orgasm snapping into your every fiber of your being, your toes curling, and drool seeping from your lips as he growled.

The noise seemed to resonate deeply in your own chest, and he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, pathetic, needy noises escaping your lips as you stared into his angry, lusting eyes. And as he buried his teeth into your bottom lip, his nose scrunched in an aggressive snarl, he spoke with finality:

“Cum.”

You weren’t sure if you had suddenly fallen under the persuasion of his brainwash, or he just knew you were overfilled with pressure, but you went rigid in his hold, your eyes rolling backward, and your vision going white. You came in powerful waves, electric stimming vibrating through your entire body as your spongey, wet walls clamped around him, and Shinsou came in a guttural groan. His hips snapping into your with five last, robust, resounding thrusts until your trembling abdomen and thighs were stilled with his crushing weight.

You could feel his hot cum pulsing and thriving deep within your cunt, and you panted heavily, your body feeling alarmingly weak as the both of you lay there. A puddle of cum, tears, drool, pain, longing, and hatred.

He lays on top of you, his chest heaving with his breathing, and you felt frozen beneath him. The pain of the gravel roof no longer adds to your pleasure but rather is stabbing you in pain. It’s quiet as you lay there.

He’s quiet.

You’re silent.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked suddenly, interrupting the silence that you hated.

“I can’t tell you,” you admit, voice thick and heavy with untold emotions.

“You know I’ll have to arrest you, right?” Shinsou spoke softly, but he didn’t move to capture you, and you didn’t move to run.

What was the point? It wasn’t as if there was ever a fighting chance for the both of you. The world would have never allowed it, so why bother?

“I don’t think you hate me enough to arrest me right now, sleep on it,” you softly chided, your eyes staring up into the universe, begging to know why they made you a freak?

“Not right now, you spent all my energy,” Shinsou admits, rising up from you, his soft cock removing itself from your humming core, and you looked away to keep from staring. “I really hate you though, y/l/n. I don’t like liars or pretenders.”

“Convince your cock of it next time,” you couldn’t help but fire back, your upper lip curling in your anger and hatred at the sound of his zipping pants.

Silence and a beat follow your words.

“I’ll tell you this now,” Shinsou spoke, turning on his heels, his tone was cold, distant, like a stranger who could care less for you. “Don’t let me see you again. If I do, I promise you, I’ll send your ass to Tartarus. We’re no longer on good terms.”

Anger, hatred, and fury course through your veins as you stand up, legs weak, but spirit wounded as you pull up your pants, uncaring of his cum leaking from your slit.

“Don’t you dare show your face to me again! Next time I won’t save your fucking ass when I blow something up!” you snapped, the tears running down your face uncontrollable although your voice never gave it away. It didn’t have to though, he turned around one last time, and his eyes met yours, and the two of you glared and simmered.

But, he didn’t bother to respond back as he disappeared into the shadows of the night sky.

You collapsed onto your knees, exhaustion finally catching up with you, and you realized his capturing weapon you had stolen was finally taken back by the rightful owner. You fell forward, the tears and silent sobs muffled by your bitten lip as you stayed on that rooftop for an hour. Crying like a freak.

Truth be told, you weren’t even sure if you ever hated him.

...

Incoming Text…

New Text Message Received!

From Unknown: ↳ Good job, y/n. Phase one is complete.

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

What would happen if Jiang Cheng found A-Yuan hiding in the tree stump at the Siege of the Burial Mounds and decided he's going to take in this toddler Wei Wuxian's was raising and raise him, in the memory of what WWX promised to be for JC?

sequel to this aka Delight in Misery (ao3)

“Sizhui?!” Jiang Cheng roared as he stormed into Lan Wangji’s room. “You named him Sizhui?”

Lan Wangji had already long ago become inured to Jiang Cheng’s huffing and puffing. Anyway, Jiang Cheng had medicine in his hands when he stormed in, which meant that he wasn’t bothered enough by it to come yell at him outside the usual time - and that meant that whatever it was, it was no big deal.

Accordingly, Lan Wangji didn’t give the yelling any more thought than it required, opting instead to turn onto his stomach in silent invitation.

Sure enough, Jiang Cheng came over to sit on the bed, grumbling the entire time he undid the bandages on Lan Wangji’s back and starting to spread the soothing balm onto the slowly healing wounds.

“I can’t believe you picked ‘Sizhui’ as a courtesy name for A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding thoroughly disgusted and more than a little disgruntled as well. His hands, however, were as gentle as his voice was harsh. “Sizhui. Was carving ‘Lan Wangji loves Wei Wuxian’ into the woodwork too subtle for you?”

Being face down made it easier for Lan Wangji to hide the way his lips twitched.

At first, he had been disturbed at the notion that his grief for Wei Wuxian’s loss – an endless well of despair, an injury that would never heal – might in some ways be balanced with instances of joy, and yet, in time, he had slowly come to accept it. After all, Wei Wuxian himself had never remembered pain for more than a moment; he would not have wanted Lan Wangji to deny himself the pleasures of A-Yuan’s cheerful presence, the peace of being surrounded by Wei Wuxian’s belongings, the amusement of Jiang Cheng’s sarcastic commentary that was so thoroughly ungracious it could only be laughed at.

The adjustment had not been easy. Lan Wangji was broken in both body and heart, lingering too longer in regrets of the past, while Jiang Cheng had walked a fine line on the verge of true madness, periods of calm interrupted suddenly by grief so intense it manifested as hysterical anger and furious lashing out, his own servants trembling to see it - it was only when Jin Ling had ended up with them, a safe haven for him in his younger years while Lanling Jin sorted out its own internal issues, that Jiang Cheng had started to calm down. His nights were still full of nightmares, brutal soul-shattering screaming ones that Lan Wangji suspected matched his own, but there were now entire days in which the man who kept him company (because apparently “seclusion” wasn’t considered a real word in Yunmeng Jiang, and “alone” was translated to mean “with me”) was a serious, earnest sect leader with a penchant for snide quips rather than the devastated wreckage of a human being he had met upon the Burial Mounds.

They had not been particularly close, before, and their personalities weren’t exactly compatible. And yet, to his surprise, Lan Wangji found that he didn’t miss the serenity of the Cloud Recesses as much as he thought he would, but rather appreciated the noise and clamor that Jiang Cheng brought into his life.

“ – like two drops of water, both of you,” Jiang Cheng was saying. “Sizhui and Rulan! These are people’s names! They’ll have to bear them their entire lives! Do you think when they’re adults they’re going to enjoy telling people, ‘oh, yes, well, you see, the people who named us had absolutely no sense of dignity or proportion, so –’”

“How is A-Ling?” Lan Wangji asked, feeling his ears go red. He had known about Jin Ling’s courtesy name since long ago, but he hadn’t known until Jiang Cheng had told him that the name had been bestowed by Wei Wuxian, or that Wei Wuxian had praised his sect and maybe even him in the naming – it sometimes made him wonder if his feelings, which he’d long believed to be unrequited, might not have been so hopeless after all.

That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about said feelings with Jiang Cheng, though.

Luckily, Jiang Cheng’s attention was very easy to divert when it came to his precious nephew. “Good! His teeth are finally coming out properly, so we won’t have to deal with all that wailing and gnawing anymore – I thought we’d have to lose A-Yuan’s fingers to all that biting before it ever happened –”

“I thought you told him to stop.”

“Of course I did. Did he listen? No. He just looked sad and obedient whenever I looked at him, and snuck his fingers into the crib whenever I didn’t – I should’ve gotten you to give him the order. He actually listens to you.”

Lan Wangji hummed in response, listening as Jiang Cheng continued in his usual manner to update him about the development of the children they were raising – teething for Jin Ling, Lan Yuan’s rapidly swelling waistline (he was almost recognizable as a child again instead of the pile of bones he’d been after he’d recovered from his fever) and the need to start him on physical conditioning soon, the investment of time and effort that all three of them were putting into trying to convince Jin Ling that his first word should be ‘jiujiu’ – and then, from there, about developments at the Lotus Pier more generally.

At first, Lan Wangji had thought there was a purpose to these updates, that he was meant to give some sort of advice as payment for taking up food and resources, but after a while he realized that Jiang Cheng just wanted someone to listen to him.

He didn’t seem to have anyone else that would.

“– finally finished the full set of docks, so maybe the fishermen will stop beating my ears in about it,” Jiang Cheng was saying. “And yes, damn you, your idea about opening up hotels was both very popular and very profitable – just goes to show that your Lan sect’s reputation for being above it all isn’t in any way justified, you lot make money better than the Jin sect…your brother came by again.”

Lan Wangji tensed.

“Stop that! Your back’s bad enough without adding knots to it.” Jiang Cheng pressed down on one of them purposefully: it hurt for a moment, and then released, and Lan Wangji involuntarily relaxed as the relief spread through him. Jiang Cheng either had a very good teacher in massage or a natural-born talent for it; Lan Wangji hadn’t yet figured out how to ask which it was. “He’s still looking for you, that’s all, and it’s starting to take a bit of a toll on him; he looks like he hasn’t slept in a while. I’m starting to almost feel bad about it.”

It was very classic Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji had found, to orchestrate a punishment for someone and feel bad about it almost immediately thereafter. It was no wonder A-Yuan had him so thoroughly wrapped around his little finger.

“You can tell him, if you want,” Lan Wangji said reluctantly. Telling would mean seeing, and while he missed his brother very much, he was still very angry over everything that had happened. “I do not want the Lotus Pier to suffer for having harbored me.”

“Stop being so damned self-sacrificing,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji wasn’t looking but he could hear him rolling his eyes. “I don’t care how much you enjoy it; I for one can’t stand it. Anyway, if my Jiang Sect can’t hold our heads up against another sect’s anger, we don’t deserve to be called a Great Sect. It’s like I told you: the moment he actually admits that you’re missing, rather than being all ambiguous and vague about it, I’ll tell him.”

Lan Wangji was secretly glad, even though he knew it was petty of him.

The thought of how frantic Lan Xichen must be after all these months, the idea of him not sleeping, of him travelling to all the sects to ask again and again if they’d seen him…the thought of it hurt, he didn’t deny it. But it didn’t hurt as much as finding out that Wei Wuxian had died with no one by his side – as finding out that his brother, who knew what Wei Wuxian meant to him, had known and deliberately omitted to tell him.

Just as Jiang Cheng was deliberately omitting to tell Lan Xichen the truth now.

“The sect would lose face,” he finally said, offering up an explanation for his brother’s actions, both then and now.

“Yeah, well, fuck your sect,” Jiang Cheng said. “I picked my sect over my family, too, and where did that leave me? Now it’s all I have left.”

His hands stilled for a moment.

“…except you and kids, I guess,” he said, sounding especially bitter about it in the sort of way that Lan Wangji had learned indicated that Jiang Cheng was having an attack of feelings and not particularly enjoying the experience. “You’re not that annoying.”

That was practically stating that Jiang Cheng would die without them.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji said, and after a moment Jiang Cheng continued rubbing in the salve. There was even a brief moment of silence, probably Jiang Cheng being thankful that Lan Wangji didn’t call him out on those feelings. Normally, Lan Wangji would just enjoy it, but… “You could have children of your own.”

Jiang Cheng choked, his hand slipping as he nearly fell over. “What?”

“Children,” Lan Wangji said. “You could marry.”

Not that marriage was a requirement for children, as Jin Guangshan continuously seemed to demonstrate – according to some of the gossip Jiang Cheng had recently reported, he’d recently brought another bastard son home.

“I’m trying, aren’t I?” Jiang Cheng asked, indignant. “I’ve gone on three matchmaking dates –”

Lan Wangji was well aware. He had been the one to whom Jiang Cheng had exaggeratedly complained after each one of those disastrous dates.

“Deliberate sabotage,” he said, because even without having left the four walls around him in months he could figure that much out. “Why?”

Jiang Cheng hesitated, then snorted. “Well, let’s hope not everyone’s as perceptive as you. It’s the agreement I made with the Jin sect to allow me to raise Jin Ling – no other children.”

Somehow, Lan Wangji hadn’t expected that.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He knew, of course, that there was nothing Jiang Cheng wouldn’t do for his last living blood relative, even risk having his Jiang sect turned into nothing more than an inheritance to be gobbled up by the Jin sect, but he hadn’t realized – that the Jin sect would take advantage of the grief and trauma that Jiang Cheng suffered, the same grief and trauma that he himself suffered from every day…

It made him taste bile.

“Though you’ve nearly screwed that up, you know,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding suddenly amused. “Back’s done, by the way.”

Lan Wangji sat up and turned his head to look at Jiang Cheng. “How?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Well, given your injuries, I’m the one out there teaching Lan Yuan all the basics, aren’t I? The Jiang sect hasn’t started accepting disciples that young yet, so he stands out. Everyone’s starting to say that he’s mine.”

“His surname is Lan.”

“And Wei Wuxian’s was Wei; that never stopped people from talking, did it?” Jiang Cheng scowled a little at the reminder he’d just given himself; as Lan Wangji had found out these past few months, Jiang Cheng was a master of the self-inflicted injury. “The latest I’ve heard is that I fell in love with some lady from the Lan sect who left her child with me when she died – honestly, it’s a bit sad that they can’t think of anything more interesting. Why would I be stupid enough to make the same mistakes as my father?”

Lan Wangji frowned. Jiang Cheng’s voice was shading near to actual pain, rather than his usual bark without a bite – he had let slip enough about his childhood for Lan Wangji to have figured out that the old jokes about the Jiang sect leader’s favoritism for Wei Wuxian were not jokes at all.

More like an old wound ripped open so many times that it would never heal.

It was no surprise, then, that it hurt him to be cast in the same role.

“You could always tell them that the lady still lives,” he said mildly, pretending his words weren’t hurting himself this time. Maybe Jiang Cheng had a point when he said that Lan Wangji enjoyed self-sacrifice. “Only that she’s ill, or in confinement, and cannot be seen.”

“Not a chance! Like I’d ever do something like that,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji very briefly loved him for his immediate rejection of the idea. “Besides, if I say that, what do I do when you do come out of here and claim him? Everyone will think we’ve been sleeping together.”

Lan Wangji politely didn’t mention the occasional night that Jiang Cheng spent huddling by his side, wild-eyed, until the nightmares went away, or the way Jiang Cheng would occasionally lend a hand with certain physiological reactions that Lan Wangji could not bear to deal with himself, turning what might have been a trigger for self-hatred and near suicidal despair into a process as mundane as the baths he still needed help taking; neither of those were what was meant.

“No one would fear that you would have children if they thought you cut your sleeve,” he pointed out, not sure why he was pushing the issue. Even if people did say that, it was only rumors, after all, and temporary ones: when Lan Wangji could walk again, even the most pointed would swiftly fade in favor of ones that slandered Lan Wangji’s reputation instead.

“I’m still hoping to get married eventually,” Jiang Cheng said. “Just – after Jin Ling is an adult. Once he’s sect leader, he can release me from the promise I made. No harm done, assuming I don’t die first.”

Lan Wangji nodded. It made sense, though for some reason he felt some dissatisfaction.

“Though,” Jiang Cheng continued, looking thoughtful, “it might not be that bad an idea to spread some rumors. If I never commented on it, people would never know for sure if it was true or just slander by some dissatisfied female cultivator after one of my horrible matchmaking meetings.”

“It would still affect your reputation.”

“Like I care,” Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Let them talk! If anyone is stupid enough to think that the contents of my bed have any impact on my abilities, I still have Zidian to show them the error of their ways. And I will, too; don’t think I won’t!”

Lan Wangji abruptly felt lighter inside. Of course Jiang Cheng wouldn’t care; he hardly ever cared about anything other than his sect and the children – and anyway, just because Lan Wangji had never told Jiang Cheng directly how he felt about Wei Wuxian didn’t mean that he hadn’t guessed. He had given Lan Wangji Wei Wuxian’s bedroom, after all. “I would never be so foolish.”

Jiang Cheng huffed and tossed his head, then turned to say something that he promptly forgot in favor of gaping at him. “Hanguang-jun, what are you doing with your mouth?”

Lan Wangji allowed his smile to widen. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Stop it! It’s creepy! Go back to being humorless and dull this instant!”

“No.”

“This is my sect and you’re my guest; you have to do what I say.”

“No.”

“You’re worse than A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng complained. “At least he pretends to listen. I’ll have to raise Jin Ling to be properly obedient.”

For some reason, Lan Wangji didn’t think he would have much luck with that.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #lan wangji #lan sizhui #jin ling #my fic #my fics #delight in misery #accidental life partner acquisition #lacommunarde

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hetalia-has-a-secretary · 3 years

Note

allies + eje human au headcanons

I had to look up what eje meant, which was Axis in Spanish 🌮 (there's no sombrero emoji, and I'm mad about it). This is mostly a college Human AU, but there's still some future stuff in there. Enjoy the longest list of Headcannons in one post lol

Human AU Hetalia!

Allies:

America:

Has rich parents, but doesn't tell anyone, and somehow his big house that everyone parties at doesn't give it away.

The only person who knows is Japan, and that's specifically because Japan's dad works for America's dad.

Is a college student, hoping to go for some kind of music degree.

A first year.

Black T-shirt and jeans. Has a plaid button up for everyday of the month, usually has it tied around his hips.

Has like, one basic tux and refuses to wear anything but converse or airwalkers.

Space nerd #1, except he's more into what's beyond our boundaries, and loves the constellations.

One of the most popular kids, and no matter how hard you try he's not easy to hate.

Gives off dumb college kid energy even though he's one of the A+ students.

His glasses are for show. It was meant to be a rebellious thing since Canada use to get bullied about his own glasses, now it's just an esthetic.

Skate boards and plays the acoustic guitar in his free time.

Jeans are usually missing the knee section.

Once set off firecrackers in a metal trash can as a school prank.

England:

Last year of college, majoring in history after failing his cooking classes.

Graphic tee central. We are unsure how many he has but he's up to 43 different shirts worn on campus.

Usually has his earbuds in, listening to punk rock.

Has an ungodly amount of bracelets. His favorite one is a black snap bracelet with little pirate skulls.

Was practically raised by his older brothers.

Lives alone, but is secretly an amazing writer.

Has a Tumblr blog he writes spooky stuff on.

Top of his class, but can be a dummy if he's put on the spot.

France:

No one is sure how he's been allowed to take nothing but art classes. No English, or science, just art.

Is also a transfer student, he's probably the second richest thanks to daddy.

Is the school stud, despite not sleeping with a single soul, and is actually extremely nervous about dating, and is just more comfortable with playful flirting.

He wants to be a fashion designer, or Model. Mostly a Designer.

Loose shirts and tight pants.

Has a weird obsession with belt sashes.

Plays violin like a god, and is a senior.

China:

Another senior in college.

Had the unfortunate event of being in the same cooking class as England before Arthur decided to switch degrees.

Still hangs out with him and Japan.

One of the few who is taking advanced classes, and is literally everyone's tutor.

Going for a Degree in Cooking. Wants to be a head chef.

His parents are over seas, but he promised to get them to America as soon as he can.

He wears a lot of colorful shirts that is always tucked into his pants.

Most of which look like bowling shirts, but he likes to add little Chinese patches to them. Has a signature jean jacket that is overwhelmed with patches.

Has a panda beenie baby keychain, so everyone knows exactly who it belongs to when he losses his keys.

Very quick to panic, and hates to admit he's wrong.

Russia:

Third and final transfer student, along with Japan, and France.

Poor confused child is trying so hard.

He's kind of shy, and is fully aware his social akwardness creeps everyone out.

Almost cried the day America and Prussia adopted him into the cool kid circle.

His broken english is probably the biggest turn off for the people at school. It's why no one really talks to him, mostly because they can't figure out what he's saying most of the time.

Biggest sweetheart though, and is painfully smart, but do to the english thing he's stuck in the average classes, but China comes swooping in and his english gets almost fluent by his third year.

He doesn't own a single thing tech, minus a flip phone, but somehow knows all the hot keys on the computer to every program, and it's only because he's lazy about it and it's the funniest thing.

Space nerd #2 but knows more about the planets and can name every single moon, and knows the history of space discoveries by heart.

Secretly a hopeless romantic, and doesn't realize he reads England's blog.

Is pretty much a closet goth, but likes bright colors too much to be seen in all black.

Knows way to much about torture devices and learned very quickly that gets you out casted in a school setting.

Isn't upset that he doesn't have many friends, but somehow attracts all the little kids from the grade school.

He likes his northface sweater, and loose pants. But his shirts are pretty colorful, and he likes collecting shoelaces.

He spends a lot of time in the woodwork shop, creating amazing figures and such.

Canada:

I can feel the dissapointed stares of Matt not being a photographer. Welp, guess he also gets a degree in art then.

Second year, Because he skipped one year in college.

Clothing style is long sleeves and vests.

He likes feeling fancy, and owns an endless amount of beanies.

One of the few people who talks to Russia.

His locker has a snot ton of polar bear stickers that everyone stuck to it, and he loves it.

Is baby but can kick butt in the wrestling club after school.

Has a tiny white Pomeranian that he rescued from it's mother who wouldn't take care of it, probably because the puppy was the runt of the litter.

Has a Harley Davidson and it's been painted black with the aurora on it, making everyone think it was his non-existent girlfriend's or something. Now it's a running joke.

Axis:

Germany:

He's not a jock, but he's friends with them.

Military Dad.

Is usually found hanging out in the gymnasium on breaks. It's quiet and no one is going to bother him. Usually.

Senior, and so ready to get the heck out of college.

Ladies love him, but he really hates the attention, like please help him.

Style wise he's pretty basic, but really loves his camo print.

Has owned countless doggos, and only attracted so many girls the day he walked to school with a fluffy poodle that France Hijacked for the day.

Doesn't ever go to dances after the first one and everyone tried to get him drunk, to no avail.

Had out drank some of the dumber students to shut them up.

Can be mean if you persistently pester him for dumb stuff, especially if he's already said no.

He's into construction and is working on a degree in Construction Management.

Japan:

Exchange student number 3

Degree in technology is what he desires.

Style = Geek, but like a stylish geek.

Him and Canada are in photography class together.

Japan is also part of the cool kids, but only when they're about to do some dumb stunt, and need a camera man.

Doesn't mind, loves watching them make fools of themselves.

Has a rebellious streak, and tends to be a complete sass.

As soon as something seems to go bad, he gone. He's heading towards the door. Been in detention once, and that was it.

Why does everyone go to him for advice when china is literally down the hall?

Rich kid #3 and his parents are traditional and are having a crisis over their son's rebellious attitude.

Italy:

Is a first year, and is oddly enough, going for a degree in history.

Really likes antiques and old artsy stuff.

Has a few shared classes with France, and they pretty much own those classes.

Rivals America's charisma, but isn't as popular due to:

Being seen around France, and not doing dumb and entertaining crap like america.

Gets picked on a lot Because he doesn't understand you can't be nice to the Jock's girlfriend without everyone thinking your flirting, even though you just needed directions on your first day of school.

Germany is now his bodyguard and he was kind of like "???" But they get closer the longer they hangout.

Fancy shirt man, like hand me downs from his Italian father. So they're really nice, and a lot of eye melting patterns.

Gets attached to people easily, and is sensitive when he gets taken advantage of during assignments, but toughs through it because he has too.

Has two cats literally named Mona, and Lisa.

Has cried at least once at school because he's a soft guy, but he gets a thicker shell the older he gets and learns to just laugh off other people's stupidity.

Romano:

Protective older brother gooooo

Second year in school, and his first year made him want to eat brinks.

Doesn't know what degree he wants, but settled for a degree in cooking.

Shares his brother's shirts practically and it confuses everyone Because, didn't Feliciano wear that shirt last week?

Immediately thinks people don't know washing machines exist Because of this, so his sass factor is high up there.

Doesn't really have friends, and also does not care. He's a bit of a lone wolf and needed something to do.

The amount of not caring attitude contrasts his high grades and his teachers are painfully confused by it.

Will jokingly tell people to fight him at McDonald's, and almost fought someone but literally laughed, and suggested they got something to eat instead.

He's somehow, in a bizarre and unwanted sense, everyone's brother which is just...

No one understands him, but they like him, and he doesn't know why and it kind of bugs him.

He's usually in the front of the school daydreaming about, god only knows what...

Is the epitomy of the "she doesn't even go here" joke from mean girls, except he does go to that school.

Why did he need a degree? Oh yeah, Because work places don't care what kind of paper, you just need a paper.

Prussia:

Rival friendship with america, and Russia has had to step in to break up petty fights.

He's not sure why he's part of the popular kids since he's so fricken chaotic and obnoxious. Or so he thinks.

Genuinely a sweet guy in his last year, desperately wanting a degree in mathematics. Like, no one understands why mathematics until he starts pulling card tricks from his pocket that deals with it, and blows everyone's mind.

He is also head of the newspaper club.

Has the style of a teenage band member and will not apologize for it.

Has hijacked the schools speaker system to blast evanescence, which gave a huge boost to his friendship with Russia, since the big fellow shares Prussia's taste in music.

Can eat a whole ghost pepper without batting an eyelash, and this is only Headcannon and a worthy note because he became sick the day after and the whole school had "in loving memory of Gilbert's stomach" posters all over the place.

Teacher's are very much done with his harmless antics. They're noticably stupid pranks, but only to the point it's annoying.

Like he managed to make all the teacher's computer backgrounds as Brad Pitt wearing a sombrero. There's no joke, and no punchline. It's just a poorly Photoshopped sombrero?

Races his brother to school every morning, and afternoon. Cops have stopped them at least twice due to other bystanders getting freaked out.

Him and Romano don't mix well, but try to leave each other alone.

#hetalia american #hetalia england #hetalia france #hetalia china #hetalia russia #hetalia canada #hetalia germany #hetalia italy #hetalia japan #hetalia romano #hetalia prussia #hetalia #hws #hetalia world stars #aph #human au

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bnhayyy · 3 years

Text

The Call (3)

Chapter Title: Secret

Wordcount: 8.2k

Fic Tag: Click

Ao3 Link: Click

Chapter Summary: Between civilians learning about the supernatural and a new player introducing herself, Mikasa has a hard day. And Annie lies. A lot.

Notes: Preemptively, I want to let you know that chapter lengths for this fic are going to vary wildly. I outline chapters before I write them and use events and intensity to pace out what all goes in a chapter. Chapter length is simply however many words it takes to turn the outline into an actual chapter. This means that while the average chapter length will probably be about 4k, some will be significantly shorter, while others, such as this one, will be significantly longer. Also! If you are enjoying this fic, please consider joining my writing discord.

Erwin called Mikasa after trigonometry the next day, just before she could start her patrol. When she didn't answer, he sent a text. That, combined with the knowledge of just how rarely he texted, made her pause.

Smith: Meet me in my office

Smith: It’s urgent

Mikasa frowned down at the message. To say that she didn't relish the thought of jumping at the watcher's beck and call was an understatement, especially when doing so would delay her patrol. However, despite her attempts to avoid him, she had come to realize that he was not the sort of man to use words like 'urgent' lightly. For him to do so now…

Mina hadn't returned to class that day.

Mikasa pursed her lips and allowed herself to get lost in her frustration as she gazed down at the text for a moment longer. Then, with a furtive glance at the rapidly darkening sky, she shoved her phone in her pocket and turned on her heel.

It was a short walk to Erwin's office. Located on the second floor of the English department building, it wasn't especially large or convenient, but it was simple. Inconspicuous. It was, she supposed, what he could manage as a teacher at a community college, for that was what he was to the public.

She wasn't certain how he had convinced the administration to allow him to paint the walls pink.

Armin had suggested that it was because he was charismatic. Personally, she didn't see it, but that didn't particularly matter. None of it did, in the end. She was probably going to be told about a particularly vicious vampire preying on college students. Or maybe a flesh-eating demon, considering that there hadn't been any remains found. Whatever it was, it would be horrible news. And if she was going to receive that horrible news inside a small pink room, then she was going to receive that horrible news inside a small pink room. The only thing that mattered was that she learned what she had to learn and killed what she had to kill.

The whole thing was perfectly laid out in her mind. Perhaps that was why she didn't bother knocking when she reached Erwin's office; she thought she knew what to expect.

She didn't expect to open the door and find four people crowded around Erwin's desk, one of them holding a red-stained cloth to his neck.

Mikasa automatically stumbled a step back at the same time that five pairs of eyes swung toward her. It was with a faint burst of surprise that she realized she could recognize all of them. Reiner was standing in front of the desk, his face a mask of grave urgency. Jean sat in a chair beside him, clutching the cloth to his bleeding neck. Whereas Reiner seemed unsurprised by her arrival, Jean's eyes were wide and shocked. Finally, a pair of goofballs from her history class stood off in the corner, whispering frantically to each other even as their gazes remained locked on Mikasa.

They only stared at each other in silence for a moment. It was a moment too long for Mikasa. With a tense knot of discomfort growing tighter within her by the second, she turned her attention to the person she least wanted to see right now, but most needed to hear from.

"Erwin," she croaked. "What's going on?"

"Mikasa," Erwin began, his expression steady and voice damningly even. Like his urgent matter hadn't just called her into an office full of civilians. Like it didn't look like something was happening that was very much not supposed to happen. "There was an attack on campus today."

"A vampire attack," Jean muttered, the shell-shocked disbelief plain in his voice. Reiner gave him a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder. Jean immediately winced and rubbed his free hand against the base of his neck, causing Reiner to withdraw with an apologetic look.

"A vampire attack," the ponytailed goofball repeated, her voice a conflicted mixture of excited, awe-struck, and terrified. Her friend, meanwhile, just looked horrified. It was a look that she saw mirrored on Jean's face, although he also seemed a little more distant and nauseous. Probably because of the blood loss.

Mikasa tried to ignore all three of them. Even so, she couldn't help but shoot brief glances their way every few seconds. Erwin, however, had no such problem. He just spared Jean a short, semi-concerned glance before continuing. "Mister Kirstein was attacked in full view of Miss Braus and Mister Springer. I arrived just in time to see the vampire dispatched by Mister Braun." He paused, casting a long, searching look at Reiner.

"And now they know," Mikasa said, unsure if she was numb, or feeling too many things at once. She supposed it was a good thing that Eren wasn't there. The office suddenly felt too damn claustrophobic without an extra presence, even one that didn’t really exist.

"Well, I've known about stuff like this for a while," Reiner admitted with a shrug. Despite having the full force of Erwin's piercing gaze on him, he managed to look only a little uncomfortable. At another time, she may have been impressed.

"I thought you might," Erwin said. "Most civilians don't walk around with stakes on them."

"Is that what that was?" the bald goofball murmured. There was a distant, shaken quality to his voice. Mikasa could understand it, but couldn't quite get herself to care right now. Heedless to her judgment, the goofball continued. "A vampire killing thing? I've seen it before, when you were getting stuff from your bag. I just thought you were really into woodworking."

Reiner blinked. "I'm terrible at carpentry," he said.

"Really?" the bald guy asked. "You don't look it."

"Are we really having this conversation right now?" Jean whispered.

"No," Mikasa cut in.

To Erwin, she asked, "why did you call me here? Do you think this vampire is the one responsible for the disappearances?" Three civilians finding out about the existence of the supernatural had the potential to be bad, but she didn't see how calling the slayer into the situation could make it better. She couldn't see how getting her involved could do anything but make it worse.

But if Erwin had called her in to talk about the vampire, why did it sound like Reiner had already killed it? And why did he call her in while everyone else was still there?

"I doubt it," Erwin said, lending unfortunate credence to the sinking feeling in her stomach. "If a supernatural being is behind those, it has been far more careful than this vampire was. It may have been emboldened by the disappearances, but that is likely the full extent of the connection."

"So you don't think a demon is behind them?" Mikasa challenged. At the same time, the girl with the ponytail piped back up to ask, "wait - so Franz and Hannah and all them; a vampire was behind all those?"

Erwin frowned. In the seconds that he took to compose his reply, Jean grumbled, "I thought they were talking about demons."

"Vampires are demons," Reiner chimed in. "It's just that not all demons are vampires."

"Right," Jean said, a heavy sigh leaving him along with his words. He slumped forward, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "I guess it doesn't matter if there's something out there killing people either way."

"We don't know that," Erwin finally said. Meeting Mikasa's gaze with his own, he said, "I'm not saying that it isn't a demon responsible for this. However, most demons leave some form of remains behind and don't bother hiding them well, let alone this thoroughly. We cannot afford to dismiss the possibility that there is a human behind this."

Jean dropped his face fully into his hand and made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and the sound of someone choking. "And I don't suppose there's any chance that this could all be one big coincidence?"

"Yeah," the bald guy piped up. "That guy tried to take a chunk out of Jean's neck, but I mean, have you met Jean? I can't say I'd blame-"

"Shut up, Connie," Jean grumbled.

Reiner tried to hide a laugh with a cough into his fist. Jean raised his head and lowered his hand to shoot him a glare. Meanwhile, Erwin offered a small, sad smile.

"It is possible," the watcher said. "But at this point, it would be best not to get your hopes up."

"Yeah," the ponytailed girl murmured. "Take a look around; it's been starting to feel like an episode of Frontline around here."

"Don't be silly, Sasha," Connie chided, his already shaky voice sounding that much more agitated. "There are no vampires in Frontline."

A thoughtful look flickered across Erwin's face. "Actually-"

Mikasa felt something inside of her snap. "So you aren't ready to commit to it being a demon," she said, voice cold as the arctic. "Fine. You still haven't told me why I'm here ."

Erwin's expression shifted, but it was too fast and undefined for her to stand a chance at telling exactly how. That was fine. She didn't particularly care at the moment.

"Jean, Sasha, and Connie all know about the existence of the supernatural now," he began, his voice never once rising or showing any sign of losing balance in face of her ire. "For their own safety, it would be best for them to learn more."

Mikasa had to fight back the urge to grind her teeth together. She wouldn't have bothered if it was just her. Unfortunately, allowing this collection of near-strangers and one almost-friend to see how much he was getting to her was simply unacceptable. Instead, she kept her voice even and measured in its coldness as she said, "and you want me to teach them."

"No," Erwin said. "I wouldn't expect that of you. I will tell them everything that they need to know. I called you here because if there are more people in the area who are aware, it would be safest for us to know about each other."

Unthinkingly, Mikasa's gaze drifted to Reiner, and his eyes met hers.

There was a moment of silence in which one could hear a pin drop.

Unfortunately, Erwin was good at reading things like that. "Is there something I should know?" he asked.

Mikasa and Reiner maintained eye contact for a long moment, him frowning while her expression remained stuck in one of neutrality, unsure of what to think and feel. She had known that the existence of a second slayer was something that she should come to her watcher with. It had simply been too easy not to with everything else that was clogging up her mind. But now the subject had resurfaced, and she found herself unsure of what course of action should be taken.

It was supposed to be the watcher council's duty to assist and guide the slayer. That did not mean that they were beyond reproach. She knew of their capacity for failure, was always aware of the damage that might have been avoided if they had simply been a little faster, a little smarter, found her a little sooner

That was damage wrought by inaction. And unfortunately, with how long that inaction had persisted, she did not yet have any true way to gauge what harm they may do when they were actually involved.

With everything so unsure, what right did she have to hand Annie over to them?

Perhaps it was a good thing that it had come up while one of Annie's friends was around. That meant that it ultimately wasn't her call to make.

Mikasa couldn't help but feel a burst of selfish relief when Reiner finally turned his gaze toward Erwin, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

"My friend Bertolt also knows," Reiner hesitantly admitted. "Because our friend, Annie, is also a slayer."

Erwin froze. His normally composed facade fractured just enough for a hint of shock to bleed through. Mikasa may have enjoyed it were it not for how his sharp eyes immediately sought her out. It seemed that her apparent familiarity with Reiner had made him dismiss the possibility that his words were as much news to her as him; that look was commanding her to talk.

Not demanding. Commanding. She didn't know exactly what the difference was, but in that moment, she knew it was there. It told her that she would not be able to worm her way out of this no matter how hard she tried. That was why, for the second time in as many days, she forced those horrible words out of her mouth and tried not to let them touch her. "Something happened not long after I was called. I died for a few minutes."

Suddenly, she was acutely away of Jean, Connie, and Sasha's silence, of their eyes boring into her. Her skin crawled beneath Erwin's piercing gaze. Even Reiner's contemplative expression, for all that she'd already told him this story yesterday, felt like too much.

She tried to brush the suffocating feeling off with a shrug. When that failed, she added, "I didn't think it was important."

"It is," Erwin said.

"Yeah," Mikasa murmured. "I can see that."

That horrible silence returned. Or at least, it tried to. Sasha interrupted it by taking a step forward and stammering out, "So, I- uh- I know that this might be a bad time, but. What's a slayer?"

Erwin cast Mikasa a long look. Then, slowly, he said, "I think it might be better to discuss this with all of us here." Turning his attention to Reiner, he asked, "do you think your friends would be willing to meet with us tomorrow morning? Say, in the library, at nine o'clock?"

"There's an us now, huh?" Jean murmured. His expression was lost and distant, save for the hint of sadness that flickered across his features when he glanced at Mikasa every few seconds.

Meanwhile, Reiner slowly nodded. "Yeah. Bertolt might have work, but Annie- I can't promise she'll be happy, but yeah, I think I can swing it."

"Good," Erwin said. "Mikasa-"

She cut him off, clinging to one of the only thoughts she could formulate at the moment. "You said it's safer for everyone who knows about the supernatural to know about each other," she said. "Do you really believe that?"

The council had done nothing to earn her trust, but she could admit that Erwin possessed a decent amount of expertise on certain matters. Enough so that his opinion may be worth considering here

Erwin blinked. "Of course," he said. "It's safest not to know, but where that fails, there's safety in numbers."

"I'm going to tell Marco, then," Jean said, voice steadier than it had been throughout the rest of the conversation

"I strongly advise against it," Erwin cautioned. "It may be hard to believe, but it is safest not to know about these things. Once you are aware, the odds of you being targeted by a vampire or demon increase exponentially. After what happened earlier, it would be irresponsible for me not to teach you how to defend yourself, but believe me when I say that your friend is better off not knowing."

It looked like Jean had more to say, but Mikasa didn't see a point in sticking around to hear it. Not when she already knew everything she needed and had so many reasons to leave. She gave a stiff nod and said, "I'll bring Armin with me tomorrow."

With that, she turned around and swept out of the room - and away from all of the pitying looks.

She had to patrol.

***

The sun had long since sunken over the horizon by the time she was able to head out on patrol. She couldn't help but be irritated by the time lost despite knowing that it probably wouldn't make any difference. Most demons, especially vampires, weren't truly active until two or three hours after nightfall. The meeting may have eaten up a chunk of her time, but it hadn't taken that long. It was most likely that she hadn't missed anything at all.

Most likely. What about the times when unlikely things happened? If there had been something out there and she had missed it...

Mikasa fought down the frustration threatening to well up and forced herself to focus on the situation as it was. If something had happened in the extra time that she was away, then she had missed it. There was nothing she could do that could change that. What she had to do now was keep her eyes peeled for potential threats.

The graveyard seemed empty aside from herself; not even Eren was there to accompany her. That was good. She wanted space after what Erwin had dropped on her. However, there was something about the emptiness that set her on edge, the creeping feeling that she was wrong, that she had to be missing something. It almost made her wish that-

"Well," a bright, mocking voice reached down from above. "If it isn't the slayer. Sun set... oof, over an hour ago, but hey. Don't rush on my account."

Mikasa turned around, stepped back, and looked up. There was an old oak tree not five feet away from where she was standing. Its branches were wide and sprawling. Sitting with her feet dangling over the edge of one of the thickest ones, dangerously close to directly over her, was a woman. She thought she saw brown hair and freckles, but it was difficult to make out between the low light of the evening and the additional shade of the tree. The thing that really stood out was her grin, wide and jeering. Like someone laughing at a joke that they hadn't yet seen fit to let anyone else in on.

In a situation like this, odds were that she was the joke.

Mikasa took a few more deft steps back, just to put some more space between herself and the stranger. Then she scowled. Questions like 'who are you' and 'what did you want' were worse than pointless. So instead, she commanded, "get down."

"Mmm, no," the woman said. "I don't feel like fighting tonight. Besides, you should be happy to get a break."

Mikasa didn't say anything. She looked over at the oak tree and followed the path up to the branch that the woman was sitting on, trying to figure out how to get at her without giving her an advantage in the process.

The woman didn't seem at all bothered by her silence - or by her very visibly scoping out the situation. She cheerfully continued, "I mean, you work your ass off pretty much every night, even when there isn't actually anything to do. But I can guarantee that nothing's going to happen tonight; not with me around."

That made Mikasa pause, but not for a good reason. She felt every muscle in her body tense as her gaze jerked back to the woman. "Why is that?" she asked.

"Why else?" the stranger asked. "Paradis is a small pond, and I'm the biggest fish."

The biggest fish.

With recent events, what would being the biggest fish entail?

As far as Mikasa was concerned, it was as good as a confession.

She was moving before she even stopped to think about it. She spun around to the other side of the tree, putting some distance between herself and the stranger, and planted one foot firmly amidst the roots at its base. Her other foot was placed in the middle of the trunk. One push, and she was able to reach out to grasp one of the low-hanging branches. Mikasa pulled and quickly twisted herself up to the top of the trunk, where it split away into a maze of branches-

And was met with a grumbled, "for fuck's sake." In the milliseconds she spent straightening up and catching her balance, she saw the woman jump off the branch and gracefully land on the cemetery ground.

She landed crouched. It was an eye-catching pose, but also one that would put unnecessary stress on her shins. She was showing off.

The stranger straightened up, met Mikasa's eyes, and raised an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna do this?" she asked,

Mikasa jumped down, landing on the balls of her feet.

"Fine," the woman grumbled. "Guess I can spare a few minutes."

Mikasa stiffened, one hand reaching toward her bag, and kept her eyes glued on her opponent. Said opponent put a hand on her hip and scoffed.

"Waiting for me to make the first move?" she asked. "I told you, I'm not looking for a fight tonight. You wanna do this, it's on you."

Mikasa grit her teeth, but complied. She lunged at her opponent's left, only to switch and throw a punch at the right side of her face at the last second.

The feint didn't matter. The woman just stepped backward, far swifter than Mikasa had expected - possibly, she faintly realized, faster than she could keep up with.

"Fast," she taunted, "but not the fastest."

Mikasa leaned forward and swung a leg out. Her foot clipped the side of the woman's leg, but she wasn't fast enough to keep her from dodging most of the blow with a clumsy jump.

She did, however, get her face to morph into the lumpy, fanged, snarling visage of a vampire.

Mikasa drew back several steps, shrugged her bag off to dangle from the crook of her elbow, unzipped it, and pulled out her stake, all in no more than three seconds. As she did, the vampire paused.

"Oh, no," she said. "I'll let you know when I'm ready for a deathmatch, thanks."

This time, when Mikasa lunged forward, so did the vampire. Mikasa aimed for her chest, aim true and stake primed to plunge into her heart. But when the wooden tip was only centimeters away, the vampire shoved at Mikasa's shoulder while veering sharply to the side. Mikasa heard and felt her stake sinking into flesh, but knew without looking that she had missed the heart. She couldn't look, for it was a blow driven by pure momentum, the force of the shove having lifted her off her feet and sent her flying. She could only be grateful that she didn't hit a gravestone when she slammed against the ground.

Her second time knocked off her feet in as many nights. Once again, her head began to ring, be it from the new impact or agitating what might have been a lingering concussion. The echo of pain emanating from her ankle was definitely leftover from the night before. This time, however, she didn't hesitate or allow either of them to overcome her.

She scrambled to her feet as soon as physically possible. As she did so she heard the vampire indignantly mutter from several feet away, "aw, fuck. That shirt was a gift."

The vampire. Vampires weren't strong enough to do that; not the ones she would usually find wandering graveyards and stake on a patrol. That meant that this one had to be old. Old and powerful, and too big of a threat to be left alone.

The sort of vampire that would have no problem picking off college students and hiding their bodies.

Mikasa got to her feet just in time to see the vampire yank her stake out from where it was wedged in her shoulder. She winced, but most of her attention seemed to be on her shirt - and the significantly sized bloodstain slowly spreading through it.

"When were you turned?" Mikasa demanded.

"About five or six years ago," the vampire mumbled. She didn't even bother looking at Mikasa, instead tugging at the edge of her shirt with the hand that was still gripping her stake while poking at it with her pointer finger.

For a few seconds, Mikasa could only stare at the vampire with wide, disbelieving eyes. When she found her voice, it was to sputter, "that's-"

"What can I say, some vampires are stronger than others." The vampire finally let go of her shirt and looked at Mikasa. Her face split into a shark-like grin, an action that was closely followed by a laugh. "Or maybe I'm just special."

The vampire tossed Mikasa the stake, which she caught on reflex. She didn't dare look away from her, but the sticky warmth coating the lower half of the stake told her what she would see if she looked. Blood, where if Mikasa had been a little better, or maybe just had a better idea of what she was dealing with, it would be covered in ash.

"I'm Ymir, by the way," the vampire remarked.

Mikasa narrowed her eyes. "I didn't ask." If this vampire was as young as she said, then knowing her name probably wouldn't help anything. Not that it mattered. Even if she had to figure it out by herself, she didn't plan on this vampire being around for much longer. She couldn't be allowed to kill anyone else.

"Well, I wanted you to know," Ymir said. She took a step back and offered Mikasa a lazy wave. From the arm that wasn't near the stake wound, Mikasa was almost pleased to note. "See you around, slayer. I'll let you know if I decide I want a deathmatch with you after all." The vampire began to turn around, only to pause and offer Mikasa one last mocking grin. "Oh, or the other one. It'd be rude not to keep both slayers in the loop."

With that, she turned around and ran. Mikasa took off after her, but was quickly outpaced. Before she knew it, Ymir had disappeared into the distance, leaving Mikasa standing at the edge of the graveyard with nothing to show but anger, frustration, and more questions than she could begin to know what to do with.

***

Annie was almost electric with anger. It wasn't quite enough to breach her composed surface, but she could feel it, pulsating just beneath her skin.

Reiner was smart enough that he wavered at the look Annie gave him when he first told her what he'd done. However, that flash of fear hadn't lasted. Now that they were approaching the library, the bastard even had the gall to look entirely unrepentant.

"They'll probably end up killed, now that you've dragged them into this," Annie whispered, thinking of the three dipshits Reiner had deemed worth dragging them into this situation.

Reiner shrugged. "Eventually, maybe."

"So why did you save them?"

"I like them," he said, like that answered everything.

Annie shot him an annoyed look.

"They're fun," he elaborated. "Or at least…" He gave a snort of laughter. "Connie and Sasha are fun; Jean's just entertaining in general. Even if something gets them later on, they're worth keeping around for a while longer."

"Implying that you aren't going to 'get them'," Annie muttered.

Reiner shrugged again. "Like I said, I like them."

Again, he said it like that was all that mattered. Maybe it was. Apparently, it didn't matter if someone was a good person, or if they had a good life ahead of them, or if there were people who would miss them. Whether someone's life was worth saving, or even just sparing from his killing spree, was determined solely by whether or not he liked them.

Annie stared at her companion for several long seconds before she broke and looked away.

The rest of the walk to the library was spent in silence.

They both hesitated when they reached the door. For the first time since breaking the news to her, Reiner looked doubtful.

Perhaps that, combined with her anger at him, was why she opened the door and strode in like she owned the place.

She immediately knew where she was supposed to go. From the entryway, she could just make out a motley assortment of people gathered around a table tucked into the corner. She had known to expect them, but that didn't make seeing them together any less strange. Sasha Braus and Connie Springer were there, both of whom she recognized from the art class Bertolt had encouraged her to try in an attempt to have some "fun" during the mission. Jean Kirstein also shared that course with her, although based on how much they bickered with each other, she doubted that he was actually friends with either of the buffoons. Finally, there was Erwin Smith. Her English professor.

The watcher.

Annie didn't let herself hesitate beyond the moment it took to spot the group. Perverse though it was, if she wanted to avoid being suspicious, she had to keep going. Reiner's footsteps, surprisingly quiet for those who didn't know his true nature, informed her that she wasn't the only one.

Good. If he was going to get her into this mess, the least he could do was help her see it through.

She could tell the exact moment that the watcher noticed her. It wasn't in how he straightened up or even how he looked her way; the other three all did something similar as she approached and she didn't see anything special in those reactions. Smith's tell was in how his eyes gleamed, bright and warm, but with an unyielding sharpness hidden beneath.

That gleam told her that she would have to step carefully. That this man was dangerous.

"Miss Leonhardt," he said, rising from his seat when she reached the table. "It is a pleasure to meet you properly." He extended his hand. Annie forced herself to reach out and shake it without hesitation.

"Likewise," she murmured.

"Your other friend wasn't able to make it?" he inquired. His eyes were bright with curiosity as he asked, but nothing more dangerous. Not that she could see, anyway. She could be wrong. Even if she wasn't, simple curiosity was dangerous enough. One small misstep could see it turning into something more threatening.

"Bertolt takes online classes," Reiner said as he walked by, before she had a chance to say anything. "He works most of the time during the day. Kinda sucks, but it pays the bills." He pulled up a chair beside his pets and sat down in a leisurely sprawl, like this whole ruse was no real stress to him. She supposed she should be happy about it right now.

"I see," Smith said, shifting his gaze toward Reiner. "Well, I would love to meet him sometime."

Reiner shrugged. "We can probably make it happen."

Annie forced herself not to react, not to frown or glare or feel like Reiner was throwing Bertolt under a bus. He wasn't; they'd all trained for this. Even without the gem of amara, it would take more than one meeting with a watcher to figure Bertolt out.

Smith turned his attention back to Annie, reams of questions dancing in his eyes. However, another voice piped up before he could ask any of them.

"So, Annie's the - er, wait - a slayer?"

Annie frowned at Sasha. She wasn't the only one; Connie groaned while Jean shook his head and Reiner raised an eyebrow at her.

"I already told you that," Reiner pointed out.

"I know, " Sasha defended. "But it's one thing to hear it and another totally to see that it's actually Annie. Like, Annie Leonhardt Annie."

"Did you think it was a different Annie?" Connie asked.

"No, but like... we know her."

"We know Mikasa, too."

"We do ." Sasha leaned back in her chair, balancing it on its back two legs as she looked up at the ceiling and groaned. "God, this is so weird. Demons are a thing and vampires are a thing and slayers are a thing and we know both of them ."

"I mean, it makes sense that Mikasa and Annie would be slayers," Connie said. He looked over at Annie as he added, "you're both kinda... intense. The same brand of intense, sorta."

"And you're both idiots," Jean grumbled.

Connie shot him a grin. "You're just upset that you have to share the secret with us and not Marco," he said.

Jean scowled. "Of course I am," he snapped. "Marco actually has a few brain cells to his name."

The conversation devolved into bickering from there. Annie tuned it out, instead keeping her gaze glued to Smith as she followed him back to the table and took a seat. He seemed fondly exasperated, like he was watching a group of bickering toddlers rather than the college students he apparently planned on teaching about the supernatural. But that was toward them. Toward her, he seemed not quite trusting, but not actively suspicious either.

Good. She hadn't managed to fuck it up within the first five minutes.

As Smith himself took a seat, Annie allowed her gaze to drift over to Reiner. He still looked perfectly comfortable, now with a bright grin adorning his face as he watched Jean and Connie bicker. Of course. Connie was fun and Jean was entertaining.

Annie wanted to close her eyes, to let herself drift off and away from this place. But she couldn't do that. So instead, she did the next best thing - she changed the subject.

"Where's Mikasa?" she asked, looking back at Smith.

The watcher frowned. "I'm sure she'll be here soo-"

He was interrupted by the sound of the library door opening; the devil herself come to prove him right. Or maybe she was the angel in this metaphor. Annie certainly couldn't picture herself as anything but a devil, given the circumstances.

Mikasa looked exhausted. Not horrible, not quite, but close. Close enough that it had to be costing her. There were dark rings under her eyes and she was visibly favoring the foot that she had injured the night Annie saved her. Her eyes, while still bright with the sort of obsessive determination that drove someone to patrol even when they were at their limit, also flickered with shadows.

She wasn't alone.

"Armin," Annie called, part greeting, part observation. She didn't bother hiding the surprise that crept into her voice or keeping her eyes from widening. From what she'd seen, Mikasa was enough of a loner that she figured anyone would be surprised to see her bring someone with her, especially with how insistent she seemed to be about slayers keeping their nature secret. Even if that someone already knew about her.

At least, those were her feelings. A quick glance around the table revealed that no one else seemed caught off guard - like they'd known to expect an extra person.

Annie narrowed her eyes at Reiner, who just shrugged.

"Armin," Annie returned, a slight smile touching his lips. "It's nice to see you."

"You know each other?" Smith asked.

"We study together," Armin said.

"Interesting." Smith cast a long look around the table, then turned his attention back to Armin. "Do you know Jean, Connie, and Sasha as well?"

"Yes," Armin said. "We've met. I think - I think everyone here knows each other in one way or another."

Smith nodded. "That'll make this easier, then."

Annie caught a hint of doubt flash across Mikasa's face as she walked past her to take a seat. One chair down from her, specifically. Armin sat down between them, probably prepared to play intermediary between two surly women.

Smart. Unfortunately, if the plan was going to be a success, she needed to get Mikasa to trust her enough that she didn't need an intermediary.

Mikasa barely spared Annie a glance. Her gaze was all but glued to Jean, Sasha, and Connie. "What has Erwin told you?" she asked.

"A lot," Connie said, while Sasha let out a tiny groan and dropped her head back.

"He told us what the slayer is," Jean said. "A girl with super-strength, chosen by the ‘powers that be’ to defend humanity against vampires, demons, and the ‘forces of darkness’." Although his words were outwardly respectful, there was an unmissable hint of disdain, like he was still expecting to be told that this was all some big joke. It was annoying, but probably a better coping mechanism than breaking down outright. "Everything, basically," he finished.

"He can't have told you everything," Mikasa said, tone sharp. "There hasn't been enough time."

"Mikasa is correct," Smith said. He offered Jean a placating smile. "I'm afraid what I've told you so far are only the basics. It will take far longer to get you caught up completely."

Sasha let out another, louder groan while Connie gave a dismayed squawk. Jean frowned, but like Armin, Annie thought that she caught a flicker of interest on his face.

"For now," Smith continued, "I would like to get everyone on the same page." Annie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the watcher turned his attention toward her. "Annie, am I correct in assuming that you have never had a watcher?"

"You are," Annie said.

"I see." As he spoke, there was a shift to the gleam in his eyes, something sharper than curiosity coming into play. Doubt. Suspicion. She was going to have to step carefully now, and apparently, she was going to have to do it in front of everyone.

Fine. All the better to make them think that she had nothing to hide.

"If you don't mind me asking," Smith continued, "without a watcher, what made you suspect that you're the slayer?"

They were waiting for me to be called.

"Things started coming after me," Annie said. "I've always taken martial arts, but I was suddenly a lot stronger. And they started calling me the slayer." She shrugged. "You can test me if you want. I'm the real deal."

"You seem very certain," Smith said, an unexpected hint of appreciation in his voice. "So your local demonic community told you that you're the slayer; how did you find out exactly what a slayer is ?"

"Google," Reiner said.

Smith paused, a frown creeping across his face. "Google," he repeated.

"Google," Reiner confirmed.

"It was the same for me," Mikasa interjected, a faintly pensive expression drifting across her face. "It wasn't easy to find, but the information's there. And once I found something that matched what was happening to me..."

"I tried looking stuff up last night!" Sasha piped up, grinning. "I didn’t get really far; 'vampires' was kinda broad, and demons, well..." Her grin faded into something caught between a frown and a grimace. "It gets weird on the internet," she summarized. "But I tried!"

"Congrats on your freaky porn," Connie remarked.

The effect was instantaneous. While Annie resisted the urged to roll her eyes, Jean scowled and scooted his chair away from Sasha, Armin turned red and looked down at his lap, Mikasa gave Sasha a look that was caught between disapproval and judgmental, and Reiner fell short of holding back a snicker.

"I didn't say it was porn!" Sasha cried.

"But you did say it was the internet," Reiner pointed out, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"We're getting off-topic," Smith patiently pointed out.

"Thank you," Annie muttered.

"Reiner," Smith began, "you said that you and your friend have been with Annie since the beginning?"

"Yeah," Reiner said, his expression drifting back into something more serious. "She came to us when she got her power-up and we helped her figure out what was happening. And after that..." He shrugged. "We weren't going to let her deal with that stuff alone. "

Smith nodded slowly. "That's very brave of you," he murmured.

He said 'brave', but a faint flicker in his eyes and something tucked into the cadence of his voice made her suspect that he meant something else, or at least that there was more to his feelings than what he expressed.

Annie frowned and tucked the observation aside to examine later, but opted to leave it alone for the time being. Whatever he was thinking, she didn't get the sense that it was dangerous to her. The watcher was free to think and feel whatever he wanted as long as it stayed that way.

"Now, I understand that this may be a difficult question to answer, but I'm afraid that I do need to ask." Smith paused for a moment, probably to make sure that they were all listening. Dramatic. " Do you know when you were called?"

"About three years ago," Annie said.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Mikasa stiffen.

"Can you get a little more specific?" Smith asked.

Of course. I could tell you the exact day, if I wanted.

"I think it was probably sometime in June," Annie said. "But that's the best I can do."

"And when you say three years ago, you mean June of 2018?"

"Yes."

They lapsed into silence, a thoughtful look descending over Smith's face. It didn't hold any sort of blatant warning signs. However, Annie was frustrated to find that she didn't have any idea what he was thinking beyond that. Each second that passed by without him saying anything felt like a nail scratching across her skin and trying to worm beneath. The difference was that no one would have blamed her if she had reacted to something like that, but she couldn't risk letting her impatience surface here.

The relief that washed over her when Smith started speaking again was almost physical.

"You're definitely experienced, but there are bound to be large gaps in your education," he said. He almost sounded more like he was musing to himself rather than speaking to anyone in the room. "We could all do with some backup as well." The watcher paused to give all of them a once-over. "I'm going to call a couple friends of mine and ask if they will join us."

"Watchers?" Mikasa asked. Her cool voice held a hint of unexpected tightness, and when Annie looked at her, she saw that her eyes had gone hard. Annie couldn't help but blink at the sight. Their previous interactions had left her with the impression that Mikasa was firmly in the council's pocket, just like a good slayer should be. But looking at her now...

"One of them is a watcher," Smith admitted. "The other is more along the lines of a free agent."

"But it would be the council sending them," Mikasa stressed, seemingly heedless of how Annie couldn't help but stare at her.

"No," Smith said. "If they come, it will be as a favor to me. Hanji often works independently from the council, and Levi..." He paused, a slight smile twitching across his lips. "Levi would be upset if he heard someone thinks he works with the council, let alone for them."

Mikasa's frown was threatening to turn into a scowl. It was an understated shift of her features, but Annie was watching closely enough to catch it. Apparently, she wasn't the only one.

"But he'll work with you?" Armin asked, caution and curiosity intermingling in his voice.

"We have a history," Smith said.

Armin nodded. Then, carefully, he turned to Mikasa. "Some more experienced help would be a good thing right now," he gently pointed out. "Especially with recent events."

Mikasa hesitated for a moment. It ended with her turning her gaze to Annie. Consequently, the hesitation shifted over to her, not quite ready to believe what was happening. Mikasa Ackerman didn't strike her as a particularly considerate person; did she really want her opinion on the matter? Slayer or not, they barely knew each other. Her opinion should mean nothing to her.

Except apparently it didn't. When the silence dragged on for too long, Mikasa prompted, "Annie?"

Annie shrugged, doing her best to put on the disinterested look of someone who was barely affected. "I'm alright with it," she said.

Because it would be suspicious if she wasn't. She wasn't allowed to care that she, Bertolt, and Reiner would have to spend hours talking and planning before the newcomers even arrived. Maintaining the ruse took priority over things like comfort and rest.

Mikasa nodded. When she turned back to Smith, her gaze was still hard, but it was a different kind of hardness now. It was the stony glint of someone on a mission rather than someone with a grudge. "You should tell them about the disappearances," she said. "And that I think I know who's behind them."

Everyone, Smith included, startled at that, which gave Annie and Reiner the opportunity to shoot each other a short, bewildered glance.

"You do," Smith said, voice impressively composed for all of its urgency.

"A vampire named Ymir," Mikasa confirmed. "She calls herself the biggest fish in the pond, and she's - strong. Stronger than she should be."

Annie and Reiner gave each other another look - unreadable, for that was all they could afford right now. One that promised that they would talk about this later. Annie had no idea who this Ymir was, but by the sound of it, she might make for a good scapegoat - at least for a while.

She just had to make sure that Reiner didn't take Mikasa's suspicions as an excuse to do whatever he liked.

Smith's expression had turned into something grave by the time Annie looked back at him. "We should discuss this later," he said. She didn't need to know him well to know that his tone suggested that it would be a detailed conversation.

"Fine," Mikasa said. With that, she glanced at her wristwatch - although glanced was a generous term for it. It was the very shortest of looks, just to confirm something that she already knew. Annie was struck by a sudden understanding; Ackerman hadn't been looking forward to this meeting, so she had arrived late when she knew that she would have to leave before long.

"I need to get going to history," Mikasa said, all but confirming her theory.

Smart, for a girl who wouldn't even take a night off to make sure that her exhaustion didn't get her killed.

Sasha groaned. "I don't suppose this is important enough to warrant a note?" she asked, shooting Smith a hopeful look.

The watcher smiled. "I'm afraid that you and Mister Springer should get going as well."

That got a groan from both of the dumbasses. Nonetheless, they began gathering their stuff together. Armin and Jean also murmured something and started getting ready to leave. Whatever they said, Annie didn't catch it. Her attention was on Mikasa, who was doing her level best to look like she wasn't dead on her feet. It was an imperfect performance, which only highlighted how bad it must be, for Annie was confident that she was practiced in putting on such acts.

She was probably planning on going patrolling again tonight. If she had gone out last night despite the state she'd been in when they met - which she must have, given her current condition - then this wouldn't be enough to stop her.

A look Smith shot Annie told her that she wasn't free to go quite yet. Of course not. The watcher had probably only just gotten started on the mountain of questions he had for them; she and Reiner were going to have to make good use of the backstories they'd fabricated. Even so, when Mikasa began to walk away ahead of everyone else, Annie met Smith's gaze and said, "I'll be right back."

She didn't wait for a response. Annie turned around and swept off after Mikasa; despite the height difference, she was able to catch up to other slayer in a few seconds.

"Let me patrol for you," Annie said, voice low but firm.

Mikasa stopped walking. "What?" she said.

"You're exhausted," Annie pointed out. "You'll get hurt again if you go out tonight."

Mikasa pursed her lips, whispers of pride and defensiveness playing across her features. Annie made sure to keep talking before any of them could override her common sense.

"Your grades have to be slipping too." She didn't pause, but the faint thrill of triumph that ran through her as Mikasa's features shifted ever so slightly made it easier for her to continue on. "That's an extra distraction. Rest, catch up on your assignments, and let me patrol for you for a few nights. Then you can be useful when you return."

Annie was making sense. She knew she was making sense - she'd spent much of the night thinking about and refining the offer, back when she'd assumed that the other slayer would have at least had the sense to take the previous night off. The deal was made that much sweeter by how much she had worn herself down. And yet, be it because of some heroic sense of dedication or just plain obsession, Mikasa hesitated.

"Two slayers are better than one, but there's no point if you keep pretending that you're the only one," Annie pointed out.

Mikasa sighed, shoulders drooping ever so slightly. It was at that instant that Annie knew she'd won.

"Alright," Mikasa acquiesced.

Annie nodded. "Alright."

With that, she walked back to the table and whatever quasi-interrogation Smith had planned for her.

Reiner shot her an approving look as she sat down. Annie tried to ignore it.

She failed, and her stomach twisted.

#mikannie #mikasa ackerman #annie leonhardt #erwin smith #jean kirstein #sasha braus #connie springer #ymir #ymir snk #reiner braun #snk #snk fic #attack on titan #my fic #my writing #the call

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museflight · 3 years

Text

The Call (3)

Chapter Title: Secret

Wordcount: 8.2k

Fic Tag: Click

Ao3 Link: Click

Chapter Summary: Between civilians learning about the supernatural and a new player introducing herself, Mikasa has a hard day. And Annie lies. A lot.

Smith: Meet me in my office

**Smith: **It’s urgent

Mina hadn't returned to class that day.

She wasn't certain how he had convinced the administration to allow him to paint the walls pink.

The whole thing was perfectly laid out in her mind. Perhaps that was why she didn't bother knocking when she reached Erwin's office; she thought she knew what to expect.

She _ didn't _ expect to open the door and find four people crowded around Erwin's desk, one of them holding a red-stained cloth to his neck.

"Erwin," she croaked. "What's going on?"

"Mikasa," Erwin began, his expression steady and voice damningly even. Like his urgent matter hadn't just called her into an office full of civilians. Like it didn't look like something was happening that was very much _ not _supposed to happen. "There was an attack on campus today."

"A _ vampire _ attack," Jean muttered, the shell-shocked disbelief plain in his voice. Reiner gave him a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder. Jean immediately winced and rubbed his free hand against the base of his neck, causing Reiner to withdraw with an apologetic look.

"I thought you might," Erwin said. "Most civilians don't walk around with stakes on them."

Reiner blinked. "I'm terrible at carpentry," he said.

"Really?" the bald guy asked. "You don't look it."

"Are we really having this conversation right now?" Jean whispered.

"No," Mikasa cut in.

But if Erwin had called her in to talk about the vampire, why did it sound like Reiner had already killed it? And why did he call her in while everyone else was still there?

"So you _ don't _ think a demon is behind them?" Mikasa challenged. At the same time, the girl with the ponytail piped back up to ask, "wait - so Franz and Hannah and all them; a _ vampire _ was behind all those?"

Erwin frowned. In the seconds that he took to compose his reply, Jean grumbled, "I thought they were talking about demons."

"Vampires are demons," Reiner chimed in. "It's just that not all demons are vampires."

"We don't know that," Erwin finally said. Meeting Mikasa's gaze with his own, he said, "I'm not saying that it _ isn't _ a demon responsible for this. However, most demons leave some form of remains behind and don't bother hiding them well, let alone this thoroughly. We cannot afford to dismiss the possibility that there is a human behind this."

"Yeah," the bald guy piped up. "That guy tried to take a chunk out of Jean's neck, but I mean, have you met Jean? I can't say I'd blame-"

"Shut up, Connie," Jean grumbled.

Reiner tried to hide a laugh with a cough into his fist. Jean raised his head and lowered his hand to shoot him a glare. Meanwhile, Erwin offered a small, sad smile.

"It is possible," the watcher said. "But at this point, it would be best not to get your hopes up."

"Yeah," the ponytailed girl murmured. "Take a look around; it's been starting to feel like an episode of _ Frontline _ around here."

"Don't be silly, Sasha," Connie chided, his already shaky voice sounding that much more agitated. "There are no vampires in _ Frontline_."

A thoughtful look flickered across Erwin's face. "Actually-"

Mikasa felt something inside of her snap. "So you aren't ready to commit to it being a demon," she said, voice cold as the arctic. "Fine. You still haven't told me _ why I'm here _."

Erwin's expression shifted, but it was too fast and undefined for her to stand a chance at telling exactly how. That was fine. She didn't particularly care at the moment.

Unthinkingly, Mikasa's gaze drifted to Reiner, and his eyes met hers.

There was a moment of silence in which one could hear a pin drop.

Unfortunately, Erwin was good at reading things like that. "Is there something I should know?" he asked.

Mikasa and Reiner maintained eye contact for a long moment, him frowning while her expression remained stuck in one of neutrality, unsure of what to think and feel. She had known that the existence of a second slayer was something that she should come to her watcher with. It had simply been too easy _ not _to with everything else that was clogging up her mind. But now the subject had resurfaced, and she found herself unsure of what course of action should be taken.

That was damage wrought by inaction. And unfortunately, with how long that inaction had persisted, she did not yet have any true way to gauge what harm they may do when they were actually involved.

With everything so unsure, what right did she have to hand Annie over to them?

Perhaps it was a good thing that it had come up while one of Annie's friends was around. That meant that it ultimately wasn't her call to make.

Mikasa couldn't help but feel a burst of selfish relief when Reiner finally turned his gaze toward Erwin, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

"My friend Bertolt also knows," Reiner hesitantly admitted. "Because our friend, Annie, is also a slayer."

Erwin _ froze_. His normally composed facade fractured just enough for a hint of shock to bleed through. Mikasa may have enjoyed it were it not for how his sharp eyes immediately sought her out. It seemed that her apparent familiarity with Reiner had made him dismiss the possibility that his words were as much news to her as him; that look was commanding her to _ talk_.

She tried to brush the suffocating feeling off with a shrug. When that failed, she added, "I didn't think it was important."

"It is," Erwin said.

"Yeah," Mikasa murmured. "I can see that."

That horrible silence returned. Or at least, it tried to. Sasha interrupted it by taking a step forward and stammering out, "So, I- uh- I know that this might be a bad time, but. What's a slayer?"

Erwin cast Mikasa a long look. Then, slowly, he said, "I think it might be better to discuss this with _ all _of us here." Turning his attention to Reiner, he asked, "do you think your friends would be willing to meet with us tomorrow morning? Say, in the library, at nine o'clock?"

"There's an _ us _ now, huh?" Jean murmured. His expression was lost and distant, save for the hint of sadness that flickered across his features when he glanced at Mikasa every few seconds.

Meanwhile, Reiner slowly nodded. "Yeah. Bertolt might have work, but Annie- I can't promise she'll be happy, but yeah, I think I can swing it."

"Good," Erwin said. "Mikasa-"

The council had done nothing to earn her trust, but she could admit that Erwin possessed a decent amount of expertise on certain matters. Enough so that his opinion may be worth considering here

Erwin blinked. "Of course," he said. "It's safest _ not _ to know, but where that fails, there's safety in numbers."

"I'm going to tell Marco, then," Jean said, voice steadier than it had been throughout the rest of the conversation

"I strongly advise against it," Erwin cautioned. "It may be hard to believe, but it _ is _safest not to know about these things. Once you are aware, the odds of you being targeted by a vampire or demon increase exponentially. After what happened earlier, it would be irresponsible for me not to teach you how to defend yourself, but believe me when I say that your friend is better off not knowing."

With that, she turned around and swept out of the room - and away from all of the pitying looks.

She had to patrol.

The sun had long since sunken over the horizon by the time she was able to head out on patrol. She couldn't help but be irritated by the time lost despite knowing that it probably wouldn't make any difference. Most demons, especially vampires, weren't truly active until two or three hours after nightfall. The meeting may have eaten up a chunk of her time, but it hadn't taken _ that _ long. It was most likely that she hadn't missed anything at all.

Most likely. What about the times when unlikely things happened? If there _ had _ been something out there and she had missed it...

The graveyard _ seemed _ empty aside from herself; not even Eren was there to accompany her. That was good. She _ wanted _space after what Erwin had dropped on her. However, there was something about the emptiness that set her on edge, the creeping feeling that she was wrong, that she had to be missing something. It almost made her wish that-

"Well," a bright, mocking voice reached down from above. "If it isn't the slayer. Sun set... oof, over an hour ago, but hey. Don't rush on my account."

Mikasa turned around, stepped back, and looked up. There was an old oak tree not five feet away from where she was standing. Its branches were wide and sprawling. Sitting with her feet dangling over the edge of one of the thickest ones, dangerously close to directly over her, was a woman. She thought she saw brown hair and freckles, but it was difficult to make out between the low light of the evening and the additional shade of the tree. The thing that _ really _stood out was her grin, wide and jeering. Like someone laughing at a joke that they hadn't yet seen fit to let anyone else in on.

In a situation like this, odds were that _ she _was the joke.

"Mmm, no," the woman said. "I don't feel like fighting tonight. Besides, you should be happy to get a break."

_ That _ made Mikasa pause, but not for a good reason. She felt every muscle in her body tense as her gaze jerked back to the woman. "Why is that?" she asked.

"Why else?" the stranger asked. "Paradis is a small pond, and I'm the biggest fish."

The biggest fish.

With recent events, what would being the biggest fish entail?

As far as Mikasa was concerned, it was as good as a confession.

She landed crouched. It was an eye-catching pose, but also one that would put unnecessary stress on her shins. She was showing off.

The stranger straightened up, met Mikasa's eyes, and raised an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna do this?" she asked,

Mikasa jumped down, landing on the balls of her feet.

"Fine," the woman grumbled. "Guess I can spare a few minutes."

Mikasa stiffened, one hand reaching toward her bag, and kept her eyes glued on her opponent. Said opponent put a hand on her hip and scoffed.

"Waiting for me to make the first move?" she asked. "I told you, I'm not looking for a fight tonight. You wanna do this, it's on you."

Mikasa grit her teeth, but complied. She lunged at her opponent's left, only to switch and throw a punch at the right side of her face at the last second.

The feint didn't matter. The woman just stepped backward, far swifter than Mikasa had expected - possibly, she faintly realized, faster than she could keep up with.

"Fast," she taunted, "but not the fastest."

Mikasa leaned forward and swung a leg out. Her foot clipped the side of the woman's leg, but she wasn't fast enough to keep her from dodging most of the blow with a clumsy jump.

She _ did_, however, get her face to morph into the lumpy, fanged, snarling visage of a vampire.

Mikasa drew back several steps, shrugged her bag off to dangle from the crook of her elbow, unzipped it, and pulled out her stake, all in no more than three seconds. As she did, the vampire paused.

"Oh, no," she said. "I'll let you know when I'm ready for a deathmatch, thanks."

This time, when Mikasa lunged forward, so did the vampire. Mikasa aimed for her chest, aim true and stake primed to plunge into her heart. But when the wooden tip was only centimeters away, the vampire shoved at Mikasa's shoulder while veering sharply to the side. Mikasa heard and felt her stake sinking into flesh, but knew without looking that she had missed the heart. She _ couldn't _look, for it was a blow driven by pure momentum, the force of the shove having lifted her off her feet and sent her flying. She could only be grateful that she didn't hit a gravestone when she slammed against the ground.

She scrambled to her feet as soon as physically possible. As she did so she heard the vampire indignantly mutter from several feet away, "aw, fuck. That shirt was a _ gift." _

The vampire. Vampires weren't strong enough to _ do that_; not the ones she would usually find wandering graveyards and stake on a patrol. That meant that this one had to be _ old_. Old and powerful, and too big of a threat to be left alone.

The sort of vampire that would have no problem picking off college students and hiding their bodies.

"When were you turned?" Mikasa demanded.

For a few seconds, Mikasa could only stare at the vampire with wide, disbelieving eyes. When she found her voice, it was to sputter, "that's-"

"I'm Ymir, by the way," the vampire remarked.

"Well, I wanted you to know," Ymir said. She took a step back and offered Mikasa a lazy wave. From the arm that _ wasn't _near the stake wound, Mikasa was almost pleased to note. "See you around, slayer. I'll let you know if I decide I want a deathmatch with you after all." The vampire began to turn around, only to pause and offer Mikasa one last mocking grin. "Oh, or the other one. It'd be rude not to keep both slayers in the loop."

Annie was almost _ electric _ with anger. It wasn't quite enough to breach her composed surface, but she could feel it, pulsating just beneath her skin.

"They'll probably end up killed, now that you've dragged them into this," Annie whispered, thinking of the three dipshits Reiner had deemed worth dragging them into this situation.

Reiner shrugged. "Eventually, maybe."

"So why did you save them?"

"I like them," he said, like that answered everything.

Annie shot him an annoyed look.

"Implying that you aren't going to 'get them'," Annie muttered.

Reiner shrugged again. "Like I said, I like them."

Annie stared at her companion for several long seconds before she broke and looked away.

The rest of the walk to the library was spent in silence.

They both hesitated when they reached the door. For the first time since breaking the news to her, Reiner looked doubtful.

Perhaps that, combined with her anger at him, was why she opened the door and strode in like she owned the place.

The watcher.

Good. If he was going to get her into this mess, the least he could do was help her see it through.

She could tell the exact moment that the watcher noticed her. It wasn't in how he straightened up or even how he looked her way; the other three all did something similar as she approached and she didn't see anything special in those reactions. Smith's tell was in how his eyes _ gleamed_, bright and warm, but with an unyielding sharpness hidden beneath.

That gleam told her that she would have to step carefully. That this man was _ dangerous_.

"Likewise," she murmured.

"Your other friend wasn't able to make it?" he inquired. His eyes were bright with curiosity as he asked, but nothing more dangerous. Not that she could see, anyway. She could be wrong. Even if she _ wasn't_, simple curiosity was dangerous enough. One small misstep could see it turning into something more threatening.

"I see," Smith said, shifting his gaze toward Reiner. "Well, I would love to meet him sometime."

Reiner shrugged. "We can probably make it happen."

Smith turned his attention back to Annie, reams of questions dancing in his eyes. However, another voice piped up before he could ask any of them.

"So, Annie's the - er, wait - a slayer?"

Annie frowned at Sasha. She wasn't the only one; Connie groaned while Jean shook his head and Reiner raised an eyebrow at her.

"I already told you that," Reiner pointed out.

"I _ know, _ " Sasha defended. "But it's one thing to hear it and another totally to see that it's actually Annie. Like, _ Annie Leonhardt _ Annie."

"Did you think it was a _ different _ Annie?" Connie asked.

"No, but like... we _ know _ her."

"We know Mikasa, too."

"We _ do _ ." Sasha leaned back in her chair, balancing it on its back two legs as she looked up at the ceiling and groaned. "God, this is so _ weird_. Demons are a thing and vampires are a thing and slayers are a thing and we know _ both of them _."

"I mean, it makes sense that Mikasa and Annie would be slayers," Connie said. He looked over at Annie as he added, "you're both kinda... intense. The same brand of intense, sorta."

"And you're both idiots," Jean grumbled.

Connie shot him a grin. "You're just upset that you have to share the secret with us and not Marco," he said.

Jean scowled. "Of course I am," he snapped. "Marco actually has a few brain cells to his name."

Good. She hadn't managed to fuck it up within the first five minutes.

Annie wanted to close her eyes, to let herself drift off and away from this place. But she couldn't do that. So instead, she did the next best thing - she changed the subject.

"Where's Mikasa?" she asked, looking back at Smith.

The watcher frowned. "I'm sure she'll be here soo-"

Mikasa looked exhausted. Not _ horrible, _ not quite, but close. Close enough that it had to be costing her. There were dark rings under her eyes and she was visibly favoring the foot that she had injured the night Annie saved her. Her eyes, while still bright with the sort of obsessive determination that drove someone to patrol even when they were at their limit, also flickered with shadows.

She wasn't alone.

"Armin," Annie called, part greeting, part observation. She didn't bother hiding the surprise that crept into her voice or keeping her eyes from widening. From what she'd seen, Mikasa was enough of a loner that she figured _ anyone _would be surprised to see her bring someone with her, especially with how insistent she seemed to be about slayers keeping their nature secret. Even if that someone already knew about her.

At least, those were her feelings. A quick glance around the table revealed that no one else seemed caught off guard - like they'd known to expect an extra person.

Annie narrowed her eyes at Reiner, who just shrugged.

"Armin," Annie returned, a slight smile touching his lips. "It's nice to see you."

"You know each other?" Smith asked.

"We study together," Armin said.

"Interesting." Smith cast a long look around the table, then turned his attention back to Armin. "Do you know Jean, Connie, and Sasha as well?"

"Yes," Armin said. "We've met. I think - I think everyone here knows each other in one way or another."

Smith nodded. "That'll make this easier, then."

Smart. Unfortunately, if the plan was going to be a success, she needed to get Mikasa to trust her enough that she didn't _ need _ an intermediary.

Mikasa barely spared Annie a glance. Her gaze was all but glued to Jean, Sasha, and Connie. "What has Erwin told you?" she asked.

"A _ lot_," Connie said, while Sasha let out a tiny groan and dropped her head back.

"He can't have told you everything," Mikasa said, tone sharp. "There hasn't been enough time."

"Mikasa is correct," Smith said. He offered Jean a placating smile. "I'm afraid what I've told you so far are only the basics. It will take far longer to get you caught up completely."

Sasha let out another, louder groan while Connie gave a dismayed squawk. Jean frowned, but like Armin, Annie thought that she caught a flicker of interest on his face.

"For now," Smith continued, "I would like to get _ everyone _on the same page." Annie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the watcher turned his attention toward her. "Annie, am I correct in assuming that you have never had a watcher?"

"You are," Annie said.

"I see." As he spoke, there was a shift to the gleam in his eyes, something sharper than curiosity coming into play. Doubt. _ Suspicion. _She was going to have to step carefully now, and apparently, she was going to have to do it in front of everyone.

Fine. All the better to make them think that she had nothing to hide.

"If you don't mind me asking," Smith continued, "without a watcher, what made you suspect that you're the slayer?"

_ They were waiting for me to be called. _

"Google," Reiner said.

Smith paused, a frown creeping across his face. "Google," he repeated.

"Google," Reiner confirmed.

"I tried looking stuff up last night!" Sasha piped up, grinning. "I didn’t get really far; 'vampires' was kinda broad, and demons, well..." Her grin faded into something caught between a frown and a grimace. "It gets _ weird _ on the internet," she summarized. "But I tried!"

"Congrats on your freaky porn," Connie remarked.

"I didn't say it was porn!" Sasha cried.

"But you did say it was the _ internet_," Reiner pointed out, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"We're getting off-topic," Smith patiently pointed out.

"Thank you," Annie muttered.

"Reiner," Smith began, "you said that you and your friend have been with Annie since the beginning?"

Smith nodded slowly. "That's very brave of you," he murmured.

He said _ 'brave_', but a faint flicker in his eyes and something tucked into the cadence of his voice made her suspect that he meant something else, or at least that there was more to his feelings than what he expressed.

"About three years ago," Annie said.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Mikasa stiffen.

"Can you get a little more specific?" Smith asked.

_ Of course. I could tell you the exact day, if I wanted. _

"I think it was probably sometime in June," Annie said. "But that's the best I can do."

"And when you say three years ago, you mean June of 2018?"

"Yes."

The relief that washed over her when Smith started speaking again was almost physical.

"One of them is a watcher," Smith admitted. "The other is more along the lines of a free agent."

"But it would be the council sending them," Mikasa stressed, seemingly heedless of how Annie couldn't help but stare at her.

Mikasa's frown was threatening to turn into a scowl. It was an understated shift of her features, but Annie was watching closely enough to catch it. Apparently, she wasn't the only one.

"But he'll work with you?" Armin asked, caution and curiosity intermingling in his voice.

"We have a history," Smith said.

Armin nodded. Then, carefully, he turned to Mikasa. "Some more experienced help would be a good thing right now," he gently pointed out. "Especially with recent events."

Except apparently it didn't. When the silence dragged on for too long, Mikasa prompted, "Annie?"

Annie shrugged, doing her best to put on the disinterested look of someone who was barely affected. "I'm alright with it," she said.

Everyone, Smith included, startled at that, which gave Annie and Reiner the opportunity to shoot each other a short, bewildered glance.

"You do," Smith said, voice impressively composed for all of its urgency.

"A vampire named Ymir," Mikasa confirmed. "She calls herself the biggest fish in the pond, and she's - strong. Stronger than she should be."

She just had to make sure that Reiner didn't take Mikasa's suspicions as an excuse to do whatever he liked.

"Fine," Mikasa said. With that, she glanced at her wristwatch - although _ glanced _ was a generous term for it. It was the very shortest of looks, just to confirm something that she already knew. Annie was struck by a sudden understanding; Ackerman hadn't been looking forward to this meeting, so she had arrived late when she knew that she would have to leave before long.

"I need to get going to history," Mikasa said, all but confirming her theory.

Smart, for a girl who wouldn't even take a night off to make sure that her exhaustion didn't get her killed.

Sasha groaned. "I don't suppose this is important enough to warrant a note?" she asked, shooting Smith a hopeful look.

The watcher smiled. "I'm afraid that you and Mister Springer should get going as well."

She didn't wait for a response. Annie turned around and swept off after Mikasa; despite the height difference, she was able to catch up to other slayer in a few seconds.

"Let me patrol for you," Annie said, voice low but firm.

Mikasa stopped walking. "What?" she said.

"You're exhausted," Annie pointed out. "You'll get hurt again if you go out tonight."

Mikasa pursed her lips, whispers of pride and defensiveness playing across her features. Annie made sure to keep talking before any of them could override her common sense.

Annie was making sense. She _ knew _ she was making sense - she'd spent much of the night thinking about and refining the offer, back when she'd assumed that the other slayer would have at least had the sense to take the previous night off. The deal was made that much sweeter by how much she had worn herself down. And yet, be it because of some heroic sense of dedication or just plain obsession, Mikasa hesitated.

"Two slayers are better than one, but there's no point if you keep pretending that you're the only one," Annie pointed out.

Mikasa sighed, shoulders drooping ever so slightly. It was at that instant that Annie knew she'd won.

"Alright," Mikasa acquiesced.

Annie nodded. "Alright."

With that, she walked back to the table and whatever quasi-interrogation Smith had planned for her.

Reiner shot her an approving look as she sat down. Annie tried to ignore it.

She failed, and her stomach twisted.

#mikannie #mikasa ackerman #annie leonhart #erwin smith #reiner braun #jean kirstein #the call #snk #attack on titan

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hopeymchope · 4 years

Text

Magia Record: Reflecting on the Anime and the Game’s Story Ending

With Magia Record's story now complete in-game and with the anime "finished" (only the first season, but it took until literally this past weekend for the production team at Shaft to acknowledge that the second season is coming/inevitable), I have like… a ton of thoughts about where the game and the anime landed.

This will probably mostly be gripes, but overall, I'm still pretty happy with both. I've invested my past year into Magia Record during a lot of my free time, and hey – no regrets here. That game was absolutely worth the experience. The anime? Jury's still out somewhat, but it looks good so far.

This is definitely a normal thing to find surrounding a radio tower.

Anime Adaptation Thoughts:

The original Madoka Magica anime made the world feel slightly off-kilter by employing locations that were just a little off the rails from reality. The producers noted Madoka's bathroom as an important example; it's simply too large and has too much wasted space. It's maybe the biggest room in their house for no discernible reason, and that's by design, because it feels wrong. Another one was the music store we see in the first episode, where the technology is noticeably on a level that you just can't find in any real shop. On the flip side, the Magia Record anime creates a world that is deeply bizarre in many ways – much moreso than the original anime or the Magia Record game world. This is probably because the creator of the witch designs in the original was given far more creative control over the series as a whole this time around, and the result was BUGNUTS. Take note of the massive stack of discarded school desks that is arranged in a dangerous, precarious pile atop the school building (helpfully labeled as a waste pile, despite the fact that… well, who is picking up these garbage desks from the goddamn roof?). That's some imagery straight out of a witch's labyrinth, but it is ostensibly "reality." I think that's where Magia Record's anime really goes bugnuts, sometimes to powerful effect in that it makes things feel more unsettling… and sometimes to ridiculous effect. I mean, the field surrounding the radio tower now being replaced with a yard of jagged, cockeyed, towering gravestones and cross-like woodwork dangling with ropes and tridents? That's a LOT. That's… that's too much.

Look, if you were a die-hard fan of Kaede in the game, I am deeply sorry, because your girl got done DIRTY by the anime. Anyone who played the game who then sees where she winds up at the end of episode 12 is likely on a train straight to Double-You Tee Eff Station. I can't deny that it makes sense for the limited story she's given to develop across, but it was still disappointing to see. I suppose we don't really have the time to develop up all of the other characters from the game, so somebody had to sub in for this role… but oof.

Sana's backstory with her family is not nearly explained or explored enough in the show. I honestly think it comes off as confusingly unclear why they treated her like this or why they didn't notice her vanish at all. The game justifies this devastatingly well, but it feels like it's not clear at all here.

I think they could've had Kyubey run around Kamihama for part of the first season before he got ousted/blocked, and I think it would've been beneficial to do so. Now, that's not just because I love his character and find him fascinating, although that's definitely true, but it's also because there's so much exposition that I wish he could deliver to the characters about what's happened before we got here. Like, the tragic truth about Felicia's backstory is wonderfully awful, and I wish there was some way to deliver that into the anime, but I don't think it's possible without a ton of flashbacks. (And to be fair, players of the game may never know it without playing her particular Magical Girl Story.)

The change to not having Mami attack Yachiyo when they first meet was something I felt was a positive move. I loved that Mami got to have a moment she never had in the game during the Radio Tower arc, too. In generally, I enjoyed the slower, more piecemeal involvement of the original Holy Quintet, which has served as nice slow tease compared to having them be more upfront in the game. I did kind of miss the Madoka/Homura involvement in the radio tower case, but I ultimately came away feeling like it was better to save those two for later in the story because they're probably the best-known characters from the original series.

The combat soundtrack is exquisite - maybe better than ever before, honestly. The Magia Record anime has the best fight music in the series outside of, say, Rebellion.

Game's Ending Thoughts: (Spoilers Within)

The anime cutscenes in the final chapter are delightful.

Puella Magi has never shied away from having its characters die in the original anime or in the many manga stories. I'd argue that those deaths are at least part of what makes it such a successful subversion of the Magical Girl formula; the threat of death (often via witchiness) establishes the idea of there being permanent consequences that simple hope and faith and love can't overcome in spite of what those other anime may have told you. On the other hand, Magia Record turns out to have very close to zero consequences. Aside from established deaths from flashbacks that have occurred before the game even begins, by the end of the game, literally no one dies. Not even the most blatantly psychotic character is allowed to shuffle off her mortal coil; she just "disappears" and escapes. I particularly like (please note the sarcasm) how three different characters do some kind of "super-move" during the final two chapters that is said to most likely kill them, and yet they all survive them! At least ONE character winds up with some paralysis, but jeez, the others walk away completely unscathed. I can only hope the anime doesn't go quite so weak in the knees about any of the characters suffering actual consequences from the potentially-world-ending-level battles that occur.

I previously griped that I actually expected the psychos responsible for the entire storyline to get off scot-free, and although they don't get off 100% free and clear by the time the credits role, they come extremely close to doing so. However, I was really happy with the "Cherry Blossom Dreams" epilogue event, because there is dialogue in there that has the Magius admit that whatever guilt they have now, they are still capable of being complete sociopaths who want to dominate the Earth. That one person's presence (Ui) shouldn't be (and isn't) enough to keep them from being incredibly dangerous. Ultimately, the solution/punishment they receive is probably the best one available in light of their overall survival. Well done.

Speaking of the Magius, I mean… is it really possible that so many feathers never questioned that they were following a couple of 11/12-year-olds and one blatantly obvious psychotic? I guess having face time with the Magius was pretty rare, but there was still enough that some of the feathers declared their allegiance was primarily to those three above all else. And most magical girls range closer to 16 than to 11, I mean, y'know? Which is practically an eternity in terms of maturity. So I guess MIfuyu did a lot of heavy lifting on NOT making them seem like absolutely the worst possible choices for leadership, huh? (And for that reason: Mifuyu got off fucking LIGHT.)

Aaaand speaking of "one obvious psychotic," I find it funny how almost nobody knows Alina outside of her Magius role except for Karin. Because, just… it's so perfect. Karin (who is not a "Karen") happens to be the most insanely tolerant person when it comes to Alina. She seems to shrug off Alina's entire everything as amusing, forgivable quirks. Perhaps because so many people believe Karin's own obsession with Halloween is a weirdly morbid quirk, Karin doesn't even question Alina's obsession with making art about death using actual human remains. Which is… funny? No, seriously. I think it's legitimately comedic in a good way. But it should probably be much more alarming to me that she doesn't care. I'd like to think that Karen feels it's just delightfully Halloween-y for Alina to paint her canvas with legit blood, and I do believe Karin isn't really the kind of person who would ask where the blood came from because whatever, it's probably fine, better get back to planning my pageant or something. She probably even thinks Alina's skulls are plastic Halloween decorations. :P

We need to talk about Mami: Mami in "Another Story Chapter 9" felt so off and out-of-character compared to how she was written in things like Rebellion or A Different Story or Wraith Arc, and furthermore, despite that chapter being entirely about Mami wanting to just be a simple peer with no superiority over the rest of the Holy Quintet, Another Story Chapter 10 has her immediately revert back to being the smart senpai character, further cementing how weirdly "off" Chapter 9 felt. I realize they had something difficult to write, here, though. It's painful how Sayaka has to run middlewoman between Kyoko and Mami in Chapter 10 of AS. I feel like I could write a whole screed about Kyoko's behavior across the franchise and how difficult a character she is for me to like even though I "get it" and don't think she's necessarily a bad person; she's just living on the edge of being almost a total hypocrite basically ALL THE TIME. The conclusion where Kyoko acknowledges that she's going to continue to work with Mami and the others semi-regularly in spite of everything is really the best closure you can hope for with her. She's too antagonistic to give us much else, and she prefers it that way. It would take years to see her mellow.

At this point, it seems safe to assume that there isn't going to be any "season 2" of the game like what happened with Fate/Grand Order after its finale. The main narrative is well and truly done, and it's just going to be various events from here on out. Is that enough to keep me around? Um. I don't know. Probably not? Hard to say. I don't really know what other mobile game to throw my heart into. I've considered Attack on Titan Tactics, but like… Attack on Titan hasn't been kind to me lately so uhhhhh.

#magia record #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm

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antiquecompass · 4 years

Text

Untamed Winter Fest Day 17: Bells

The Jiang Holiday Extravaganza was an entire fortnight of excess that even after four years still shocked Xichen in the five minutes of peace, quiet, and reflection, he got to himself at Lotus Pier. At least he’d learned how to avoid all those damn demon elves on their shelves, especially since Jiang Cheng always exorcised their room of them when they arrived. He also knew which bathrooms to avoid (near the library and off the living room with their Santa and Mrs. Claus toilet seat covers respectively), and how to kindly suggest a theme to Madame Yu for the Christmas tree in their bedroom. The first year had been a tree full of teddy bears, and while not offensive in any way, half of those ornaments sung in voices eerily reminiscent of The Chipmunks. Many were motion activated. He’d come out of a sound sleep his first night here, terrified, as Nutmeg tried to climb the tree and a freakish high-pitched voice sang ‘Up on the Rooftop.’ This year Madame Yu had apparently found some mercy and picked deer. Glittery deer, but just deer. None of them sang or played music, though the large light-up display on their fireplace mantle did. It was a compromise Xichen embraced. Mostly because he’d easily found the off-switch on the musical Santa train.

The sheer amount of food and all its richness? That was still a struggle. He had consumed far too many desserts at the Christmas Eve party and now regretted it as he laid on their bed, waiting for Jiang Cheng to return with Sugar. Honey, their new puppy, was already in her bed in the corner, fast asleep. Cinnamon and Nutmeg had claimed the library as their territory, but Pepper was on the bed beside Xichen, stretched out over all the pillows.

He truly wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep with her soft purrs lulling him into dreams, but there was one Christmas tradition he had come to fully embrace and he was going to stay awake for it, even if the sugar crash in his system was demanding sleep.

This was why Uncle had always forbid food excess, especially sweets.

He smiled as their bedroom door opened, Jiang Cheng carrying the crisp, cold scent of the outdoors on his skin and in his hair. He carefully placed Sugar on the bed, then sat down between her and Xichen, stroking Xichen’s hair.

“The great Lan Xichen. Defeated by fudge,” he teased. His fingers moved to his belly and rubbed it in warm circles. “How far you have fallen.”

“It was very good fudge,” Xichen said. “I know you still have your problems with him, but Jin Zixuan is a talented baker.”

“It’s one of his few good traits,” Jiang Cheng agreed.

When he leaned down to kiss Xichen, he could taste the remnants of peppermint and chocolate. Xichen wasn’t the only one who had an excess of sweets tonight.

“I’m going to grab a shower while I can,” he said. He ran a thumb over Xichen’s lips, a soft smile on his face when Xichen caught it and gave it a sharp bite. “I’d ask you to join me, but I don’t think you’re capable of moving.”

“Probably not,” Xichen admitted. “The spirit is willing, the body refuses.”

Jiang Cheng sighed and patted Xichen’s belly again. “This is what I get for hitching myself to your old, broken down, wagon.”

“I am four years older than you,” Xichen said.

“And yet one of the oldest people in this house,” Jiang Cheng said as he slipped off the bed.

“We can’t all be sat at the kid’s table,” Xichen said.

Both Jiang Cheng and his brother had been placed there to watch over the younger cousins and their nieces and nephews. That was the story at least. Xichen had experienced enough Jiang family dinners to know it was more to do with Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng, two grown men, always being on the verge of a food fight.

“Can you honestly say you enjoyed your time at the main table?” Jiang Cheng asked as he pulled out his pajamas. “Enlightening conversation with Uncle Yi about different wood grains?”

“Each day brings a chance to learn something new,” Xichen said.

“Baby, you are so full of shit,” Jiang Cheng said with a laugh as he walked out into the hallway.

**********

Xichen had fallen asleep despite his best intentions, but when he woke up from his dessert-induced nap, Jiang Cheng was beside him, hair down and loose, reading glasses on, with his Kindle in his hands.

Xichen still couldn’t believe he had the good fortune to fall asleep and wake-up and live beside such a man.

“Sorry,” he said.

Jiang Cheng startled, but set his Kindle to the side.

“You were fighting a losing battle,” he said. He slid down to press up against him. “I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

“Did I miss it?” Xichen asked.

This was their tradition. On Christmas Eve, late at night, when the house was quiet and nothing could be heard but the sound of the bells and windchimes on the porch, they exchanged their gifts to each other. The private ones. The sentimental ones. The ones they wanted to keep just between them without the eyes of the entire family on them and without any running commentary from certain vocal parties.

Wei Ying and Madame Yu both had very pointed opinions on gifts.

“It’s 11:50,” Jiang Cheng said. “You woke up just in time.”

He reached under his pillow and pulled out a slim box.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Xichen reached under his own and pulled out the slim wooden chest he’d commissioned to hold the small glass figurines inside.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

It was Jiang Cheng’s year to open his present first. Xichen eagerly waited to see his face.

“These are--” Jiang Cheng’s voice went soft. “These are our pets.” He looked at Xichen, fingers carefully trailing over the glass figurines inside the box. “How?”

“I ran into a few old friends from college when I had to chaperone that school trip to the Renaissance Festival. One of them is a glassblower, the other a woodworker. I know they’re not like the tiny crystal ones you collect but--”

“They’re perfect,” Jiang Cheng said. He pulled Xichen in a deep kiss. Then another. And another, before finally turning back to the box, the softest smile on his face. “You even got Honey in here.”

“A last minute addition,” Xichen said. The little glass Honey had arrived days before their departure.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng said. “I love them.”

His fingers danced over the tops of the five glass figures again before carefully closing the box and setting it on his nightstand.

“Your turn,” he said.

Xichen picked up the slim box and heard a slight rattling inside.

“Not a necklace,” Xichen said.

“No, you don’t wear those,” Jiang Cheng said, fingers unconsciously wrapped around the jade lotus pendant hanging from his own neck.

“A bracelet?” he asked. “A fountain pen? A letter opener?”

“Stop guessing and just open it,” Jiang Cheng said.

“The guessing is the fun part,” Xichen said. He carefully started to unwrap the paper.

“Just open the damn thing,” Jiang Cheng said.

Xichen deliberately opened the present even slower, just to see that frustrated furrow between his boyfriend’s brows.

When he finally opened the box, he forgot how to breathe.

He’d resigned himself to the fact that there would never be a wedding for them, even though he knew they’d be together for life. Jiang Cheng was very vocal about his hatred for weddings and a general apathy towards the institute of marriage when legal ties and an agreed life-long commitment was just as valid in his eyes. So Xichen knew he wouldn’t have an engagement or a wedding or a marriage in the legal sense.

But this--this was--this was the Jiang Bell.

A silver bell engraved with the design of a nine-petal lotus hung on a royal purple tassel. It was sacred to the Jiangs. Similar to the Lans and their forehead ribbon. And was meant only for family members.

“Legend has it,” Jiang Cheng said in the wake of Xichen’s silence, “that the bell can calm the mind and clear the spirit. I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s a family tradition. I’ve been lobbying to get you one for years now and my Great Aunt finally gave up the goods.”

Xichen was still at a loss for words. His fingers shook as he removed the bell from its box. A soft ringing filled the room.

“You’re my family. We’re our own little family, cats and dogs included,” Jiang Cheng said. “And it was time you had your own.”

“You,” Xichen said, laughing even as happy tears filled his eyes. “I got you little glass animals and you give me--”

“What is rightfully yours,” Jiang Cheng said.

He kissed the tears on Xichen’s cheeks, his fingers wrapping around Xichen’s own where they held the bell.

“I love you,” Xichen said. All he could say when words truly failed to express what he was feeling and the depths of the emotions running through him.

An excess of love, of devotion, of trust, of dreams fulfilled and even more hope for the years ahead of them.

“Of course, I’ve now fucked myself over,” Jiang Cheng said. “No present is ever going to top this one.”

“No,” Xichen agreed. “But I somehow think you’ll still beat me, again, like you have, every year.”

“We’re going to disagree on this one,” Jiang Cheng said. “You gave me the menagerie in tiny glass form that I can have forever.”

And Jiang Cheng had given him his family, completely, fully, now.

“A draw then,” Xichen said, even if they both knew who had won this year.

“A draw,” Jiang Cheng agreed.

#long post #untamed winter fest #xicheng #day 17 #verse: lahl #fic: hold me like you want me #fandom: the untamed #my ridic writing

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theflashdriver · 5 years

Text

Heather

This story is a small exploration of a Silvaze fanchild and how the pair might function as parents. Beyond that, I don’t have much of a blurb for this one; I just thought up their little Heather and ran with the idea of her. Creating her was a lot of fun and gave me some creative breathing room, from imagining how her powers might work to deciding which of their parents’ traits she would inherit to figuring out their overall family dynamic. Writing an OC amoung a canon cast was a new experience but a wonderful one none the less!

This piece totals 6,637 words long and is suitable for all, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

A cast iron kettle hung in the air, cloaked in a bubbling mint green aura. Its owner sat at a desk beneath it, scribbling away in preparation for an upcoming maths test but, unfortunately, was more distracted than she'd admit by her tea-brewing endeavour. It wasn't that the effort was overly strenuous and it wasn't that she hadn't practised, but maintaining a temperature low enough to prevent overflow was proving more difficult than she'd anticipated. She'd got stuck three sums into her workbook, a geometry question no different from those prior was somehow taking ten times their effort. As she cursed her inability she felt her pencil brittle in her grasp, paint melting as the wood turned to a husk. The feline sighed, gripping it by the graphite tip and blowing, but the damage was already done. The fingertips of her right glove were stained yellow and black. Her pencil was well beyond use.

She groaned, tossing it in her wastepaper basket, and reached to her pen-pot. There were no more pencils, only pens. Pens were no good for maths. She opened her drawers, only papers; no pencils. A low hiss slipped from her throat, she balled her fist only to flinch and quickly reopen it. The paint now marked her palm, cast black by the glowing green symbol behind it. She slumped back in her chair, a much louder hiss slipping her throat, and brought her left hand to her forehead.

That was when a meteor fell from her ceiling; her kettle crashed through the desk in front of her and she, in response, tumbled twice backwards over her chair and landed flat on her back. A hiss escaped her throat, despite being a cat she clearly had her father's reflexes; couldn't have just landed on her feet. Just as she thought of her father, his voice rang up the hall.

"Heather, what was that?! Is everything alright?!" His call was followed by the sounds of a psychic whir; he was undoubtedly racing toward her room.

"I'm fine, Dad! It's fine! Don't come in!" She dared to glance at the damage, the now dented iron mass and her demolished oak desk. Almost-tea had been sent in almost every direction. Was the floor broken too? Knowing her luck, probably.

Despite her demands, there was a gentle rap at her door; undoubtedly her father's knuckles. Heather released another sighing hiss, brushing off her skirt and clambering to her feet; making sure her ponytails were still in place. As cats went she was on the fluffier side, her pastel purple fur was rather untameable, and thus made maintaining a serious visage… difficult. She'd had her right ear pierced in an attempt to fix that, coupled with a shift from garish pinks and yellows to a more serious (gothic) style. Out with sundresses and dungarees, in with black skirts and shirts from her favourite metal bands.

"Purpur, are you sure you're okay? Can I come in?"

Fists balled and eyes shut tight, she spoke through gritted teeth, "Dad, I told you to stop calling me that, I'm not a kid anymore." Another hiss escaped her throat, Heather knew she had whined rather than demanded that change.

"Sorry Heather, I just… can I come in?" She heard the worry in his voice.

Heather turned away from the door, wandering over to inspect what remained of her desk. Her papers were ruined, the woodwork was smashed and water was freely leaking from her kettle.

Eyes closed, fists clenched and her ears lowered. "D-Do whatever you want."

The door unlatched behind her, footsteps padded across the carpeted floor behind her. "Oh dear, well at least you're alright. This shouldn't be too hard to fix!"

Cyan light flared, the kettle returned to the air and soon its puncture was turned inside out; the metal folded to reseal. Her papers too lifted skyward; water being separated and pooling within a separate psychic bubble. While he couldn't fix her desk he did his best, the broken board splintering back together and being set to lie atop its legs. With a point, her trinkets and kettle were piled on her bedside cabinet. The orb of tea was quickly disposed of, her window briefly opening to set it loose.

"We can get you a replacement desk in the morning, don't worry about it."

She felt his hand on her shoulder, Heather shrugged out another sigh but no hiss accompanied it. The feline finally turned to face her father, looking up at his stupid smiling face and ridiculous quills. Even though she was fourteen he still towered over her, the fluffy tips of her ears barely reached his chin. Cyan symbols were etched on his hands, not quite the same as her octagons but unmistakably similar. Moments like this reminded her that she had his brighter eyes, not her mother's amber ones as she liked to think.

"Thanks," His smile grew at her praise, ugh. She turned away arms folded, "I-I guess, but I could have cleaned it up myself."

That hand on her shoulder pulled her in for a hug. She kept her arms firmly crossed and forced herself to maintain a frown despite the tickling of his fluff. "I know you could but it's fine. I just wanted to save you the hassle, no matter how grown up you are I'm still going to do my best to help you."

"Dad, stop embarrassing me." At that, she felt him hug just a little tighter, practically forcing his fluff up her nose. Her eye shut, she could feel the heat on her face. "I should be cleaning up my own messes, solving my own problems n-not relying on you or anyone, n-not even mum!"

She'd tried to sound serious but, again, Heather knew she surely hadn't. Not only had a stutter snuck past her lips but her words had surely been muffled against his frame. If he couldn't take her seriously when she spoke clearly, what chance did she have now? Finally conceding, she leaned into him… but she wasn't going to return the hug.

"We both know what she'd say if she heard you say that." Heather could hear the teasing in her father's voice. He wasn't wrong, as much as she wished he were.

"I know, she'd call me stubborn." But if he was going to tease her then she could push back. She was an adult; she didn't have to stand for this. "But she'd call you naïve for babying me."

He snorted, "She's been calling me that long before you were here, it didn't stop me then and it won't stop me now." She felt his hand shift, rising to ruffle her unpierced ear. Before she could complain he'd released her from the hug, still beaming with that stupid grin. If anything it'd grown even stupider and far more embarrassing. "You're always going to be my little Purpur. Nothing you can do will ever change that."

Heather tried her hardest to force the red from her cheeks. She shot him the harshest glare she could muster, ears pinning back and tail stiffening. "You are the catalyst of my misery, the key to my hatred and root of…" Cheeks flared brighter as she searched out more words; she knew her glower was wavering. "All my ignominy." Unsatisfied with the effort, she turned from him, making sure to whip her tail. "I long for some great thaumaturgy to free me of your unabashed foolishness. You handle a future sorcerous and monarch as you might some plain infant, as though I am some hapless new-born still crawling on my hands and knees." That was better, Heather refolded her arms in an attempt to further emphasise her points. "Your assiduity shackles me five hundred magnitudes more than you could ever comprehend, binding me to a crag of discontent to be scoured by waves of embarrassment."

For some time there was quiet, a vacuum that rather surprised the feline. Heather had doubted he'd take her effort to heart, in truth she'd expected him to laugh her off again. She'd expected and they'd float off into the air, him having hugged her, and very nearly bump against the ceiling. There'd be groaning, she'd try to push away, but he'd continue to hug her and call her by that insipid name.

But, rather than a hug, his words broke the silence. "Well, perhaps you're right. You are growing up so, if it means that much to you, I'll stop calling you Purpur." Eyes widened, she looked over her shoulder to him. "Of course, as I said, that's what you'll always be to me; but if it really embarrasses you so much… then fine." She could see the sincerity in his eyes, as they locked with hers though his smile near tripled in size. "That doesn't mean I'm going to stop looking after you though, no matter how much that embarrasses you. You're still my little girl after all."

"I-I'm not a little girl, I'm an adult; a future monarch no less!" The young feline turned away again, feeling a smile creep onto her lips. For as embarrassing, foolish and goofy as he could be, Dad wasn't one for lying. If he said he wasn't going to call her Purpur, he meant it. Before she could really think two muttered words slipped past her lips, "T-Thank you."

That'd done it. The naïve oaf was upon her; arms wrapped around her and his chin crowning the top of her head. Before she could struggle they were in the air, approaching the ceiling. Heather couldn't see it, but she could imagine the stupid smile plastered on his face as he nuzzled and cooed. All her pushing and decrying did was alter their trajectory, soon blood was rushing to her head and the floor spanned out above them. Only his power could force such embarrassing hugs, he'd stopped doing them in public last year but the house was a different story.

"Dad s-stop that right now! You shouldn't even be in here; this is my room. You're going to leave boot prints on the ceiling. G-Get out! Get out! S-Stop hugging me, r-right now!" Heather swore she heard him laugh, or at the very least chuckle. "Ugh, you're so embarrassing!"

"Just a little longer, it feels like its been months since I last cuddled you." He'd kicked off the ceiling; they were slowly approaching the floor.

Regardless of that Heather continued to battle, wriggling away from him nuzzles. "Y-You hugged me less than ten minutes ago!"

"That one was too short, it hardly counts." She could feel her fur growing messier and messier, pricking as her agitation grew. "I miss when my little girl would return my hugs."

"Your little girl isn't little anymore! I-I'm an adult, I'll do whatever I want!"

"I already told you, no matter how old and mature you get you're always going to be my little girl." Eyes rolled, she over exaggerated a hiss, but she knew it was only reinforcing his words; drawing out her childish anger. "Although, as you are such an adult, I suppose I can trust you with a little errand? If you agree to do it I'll set us down now."

It was an especially embarrassing combination, first an attempt to crumple her ego followed by such an obvious attempt to bolster it. She felt her flush grow even redder, "F-Fine! I'd rather suffer a thousand lonely deaths than endure five more minutes of this." That was too much, again it sounded like she was trying too hard.

As feet finally met the ground he gave one last nuzzle, again brushing that unpierced ear much to Heather's chagrin. She quickly pulled away, arms refolding as she turned to face him. "Well, this will be far easier than that. We've got an important guest coming for dinner, I was going to collect her from the harbour myself but I'm sure she'd love to see you first."

"We're having a visitor here rather than in the castle?" Her brow furrowed

He ran his fingers through his chest fur, giving the words some thought. "Knowing her, she'd probably want to stay here with us rather than in a guest room. Odds are she'll refuse a room and sleep on the couch too."

It was rather unusual for guests to stay in the house rather than the palace. Usually, people came from the other dimension in groups too; only one woman coming was rather strange. Aunt Amy, Uncle Sonic and their brats had stayed for a week no more than ten days ago. The Rabbit had family visited a week before that, alongside the heads of the Chaotix detective agency. Who else was there? She recalled a bat and echidna family, she cursed herself for forgetting their names, but she doubted it.

Curiosity had been piqued though she attempted to bury that, standing fully to attention and taking the task with the utmost seriousness. "Who is it I am to escorting?"

"It's…" The hedgehog paused as if some idea had struck him. "Well, I suppose it was always meant to be a surprise; I shouldn't change that now. Even if you don't remember her, she'll surely remember you so don't worry about missing them. I'll be surprised if she doesn't recognise you, not much has changed." He realised his mistake before she could begin to frown, quickly following that up with, "I-I mean, you've grown a lot since back then and changed in some amazing ways Heather but some things are, well, rather permanent."

Dad raised his hand; a cyan-blue pillar of light entered Heather's vision. She sighed, matching the effort; a mint hue was unleashed, a wave of warmth coming with it. He wasn't wrong, between her markings and eyes it was obvious who her father was and cats weren't exactly common on the island, let alone those with the royal mark on their forehead. She noted the wrinkle of concern on his brow.

"It's fine dad." Heather internally rolled her eyes trying to maintain her serious expression. While it was a basic and pitiful errand, she couldn't help feeling a twinge of pride. It was a small step, but clearly an important one toward being treated like the adult she was. Eyes closed, she put on her clearest voice. "While it's hardly a task befitting of my status, I shall do as you have requested. I'll see to it that this visitor arrives without delay."

Immediately his hand was back on her head, now quite reaching her ears but ruffling the thick fur on her head. Eyes quickly opened, she struggled to bat the hand away. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Yes, now… get out of my room." She reached up to smooth out the damage he'd done but quickly remembered the melted paint on her palm, likely newly melted by their brief light show. Heather balled her fists, "Ugh, you're so embarrassing!"

Finally, she heard footsteps; he said something to the effect of "Stay safe" as the door closed behind him. Alone again, at last. She quickly removed her gloves and sought out a clean pair; taking up a comb she quickly flattened her fluff and retied her ponytail. While she didn't know who she'd be meeting, it was only right that she appeared proper; both for them and the populous at large. Well, as proper as her fur would allow. She drew a jacket from her closet, a simple (hoodless) coat with a fake breast pocket. It was more an accessory piece than for warmth; it wasn't as though she felt the cold after all.

Satisfied with her appearance, Heather took to the hall. The scent of herbs immediately struck her, forming an obscuring barrier, but beneath it was the scent of salmon. It wasn't being cooked yet, the smell was too weak for that, but her mother's sense of taste had rushed to the forefront. Despite the fish's taunting, she managed to round her way down the stairs and to the front door; collecting her key from the hook and quickly slipping on her shoes. All was ready, all was set, it was a simple task but it was a taste of proper responsibility! She pulled open the door and stepped outside…

Bright yellow eyes collided with a regal, amber, set. She'd departed just as Mum arrived, the older purple feline was dressed in her usual robes; what'd once been a ponytail had recently grown into a lengthy braid.

Quickly, Heather returned to her full attention; hands clasped in front of her. "G-Good evening mum, I hope work was… productive?"

A small smile crossed the monarch's face, Heather tried her hardest not to mirror it. She had to look serious; no she had to be serious! "Good evening Heather, it was dull but yes, productive. I hope you aren't going far? By that smell, dinner can't be too far off."

"No, just to the harbour. Dad trusted me to collect our guest, but he hasn't told me who they are." She was thankful her stutter hadn't persisted. Deep down, she knew her attempts to elevate the task only made it more infantile, but success here would surely grant her further independence. That meant it was the first step on the path of making her proud. "Regardless of the difficulty his naivety has caused, I'll locate her and return post-haste."

"I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding her, she'll likely shout the moment she spots you." As Blaze went to pass Heather stepped outside, holding the door open. "She's never quiet, even eight years later I doubt that much has changed."

Again Heather thought back, eight whole years? So she'd only been six when this person left. To the young feline, that time was a mess of pink dresses and tea parties, wanting to be the stereotypical pretty princess more than anything. Now it was starting to get to her. Heather's eyes finally averted from hers, "I wish he'd just told me."

"You're so stubborn, your father wants it to be a surprise for a reason. I won't deprive you of it." It wasn't a serious chide of course, but Heather couldn't help feeling she'd made a misstep. "To be honest, I'm surprised you've forgotten her. You sobbed for weeks when she set out."

"I-I did?"

"Well, when you see her I'm sure it'll all come back." That small smile remained, though Mum's eyes departed from Heather. "Remembering someone you've forgotten is… an experience. I suppose, with that in mind, I can stand for you two to be a little late to dinner." Mum took another step over the threshold; gently nodding as she passed. "I'm off to surprise your father. Have fun."

For once, the clear interlude to her parents' flirting didn't faze Heather. She was dumbfounded, her mouth agape a single word snuck past her lips, "O-Okay." She quickly rectified this though, restoring her attentive posture and furrowing her brow. "I'll see to it that we're back in time for dinner, I'll take no longer than twenty minutes; there and back."

Her claims weren't met with a response; by the time she'd recovered her mother was well on her way toward the kitchen. The young feline closed the door, slouching against it and heaving a sigh. On one hand, she'd been called stubborn again and she doubted her Mother was much impressed by her immature display. On the other, Mum seemed particularly happy for this reunion and furthermore, apparently, it was someone she'd known as a child? How old were they?

Heather managed to push away from the door, beginning the trek down the path and away from their family home. She glanced to her right; the Sol castle itself wasn't far from here. They stayed in their separate house for practical reasons more than anything, the building was archaic and upgrading it had proven difficult; the water refused to heat, oftentimes leaving it cold. That wasn't a problem for Heather, nor her Mother of course, and when they did stay there Dad simply demanded more hugs but providing them bedding meant powering an entire wing; a wing full of empty rooms. Additionally, three people sat taking breakfast at a table made for fifty was a frankly bizarre sight to behold; with her parents' powers and the lack of threats, the royal guard had all but been disbanded. Naturally, those were the reasons Mum gave rather than Dad. Instead, he'd say something mushy, something about enjoying the domesticity of their little home or how he just wanted his little Purpur to have a regular childhood before she had to worry about those things. Ugh. The central chambers saw use for politics, when important guests came it saw further use still, but beyond that, the building had become somewhat of a tourist draw.

Thoughts of her future reign in the castle carried her all the way there. On occasion she received glances, elder folks would remove their hats and younger kids would stare, tugging at their parent's sleeves or having their heads turned by their parents. She gave affirmative nods and waves but didn't want to risk stopping and missing this mystery guest. The harbour itself was relatively quiet, save for a trio of elderly koalas lugging crab-crates onto dry land. Empty sailing vessels of various shapes, purposes and sizes were anchored within the harbour, protect from the (rather mild) waves.

Heather found a space and took a seat, feet dangling above the water's edge. She'd promised to return within twenty minutes, not that Mum had taken it seriously, but that might've been well outside of her hands. Pending the tides and their visitor's vessel, they could be hours late. The wind was gentle against her fur, the sky a muted orange but it couldn't be long till the sun dro-

A sudden splash pulled Heather from her thoughts; the shock sent her skirting backwards and forced a cry from her throat. Before even thinking to rise, she scanned behind her, fortunately, the fishermen were out of sight and earshot. She was prepared to reprimand herself for letting such a simple thing surprise her when she remembered; the ocean's surface was over five metres beneath her. Heather sat up straight and found that a rather peculiar device had sprouted from the water. It was …a pipe? A pipe coated in rush, a bend near its end, was turning on its axis to look left and right but facing the direction of the sea. The young feline pressed her hands to her shoes, unleashing her symbol's warmth to dry them, and curiously eyed the pipe just in time for it to fully turn to her. There was a glass lens on its end, nothing but darkness within. For a moment, she was locked in a stare-off with the pipe.

It plunged back into the depths without warning, sending forth a geyser of water in its wake. At that Heather clambered to her feet, ignoring the lingering moistness of her shoes to peer down at the water. As quickly as it had appeared, the pipe had vanished without a trace. Nothing but the blue sea, gentle waves rolling on its surface. Brows were nit into a sharp frown as she scanned for any movement, any sign of a machine or a creature. She got more than a sign.

There was an explosion of water, despite jumping back Heather found herself now fully soaked. A hulking metal mass coated in orange rust and long worn blue paint had emerged on the surface, jostling in the wake it had caused. Just as she thought she understood its entirety Heather heard a sound like this hiss of a thousand bottles of lemonade being unscrewed, the giant metal hull cracked like an egg and the rusted shards began to tumble into the sea. In a matter of moments a proper shipping vessel was revealed, a large sailing ship that (judging by its patchwork) had seen more than its lifetime of use. Everything from sheet metal to driftwood had been used to fill gaps in the hull, a large green sail hung from a mast at the boat's centre but at its rear end was an engine that looked much too large for the boat to maintain buoyancy.

"Alright mates, we're back at last! Unload the cargo, I'm off to see my Niece!" That voice, its twang was so familiar. It, the green colour of the sail and what remained of the original boat… the three were very familiar to Heather in a way she couldn't quite place. The ship was much too tall for Heather to see its deck but she could hear the pounding of footsteps and grumbles of sailors atop it.

She walked along the length of the ship, looking for anything else familiar. A worn patch of the original wood stood out, up high and near the bow of the ship. There was an engraving on it of some sort, assumedly the ship's name? It was too high to read, especially in its current state. Heather clenched her fists, mint green energy flared around her person and began to dry her clothes but that was merely a by-product. Soon she was airborne, hovering eye to eye with that faint inscription. What did it say? The Royal Raccoo-

"Strewth! You finally learned how to fly?! Well, it took ya long enough."

Before Heather could turn to the voice on the deck a great weight smacked into her, eyes closed and energy focused as she attempted to slow her tumble to the ground. She, mostly, succeeded; a psychic barrier on her back prevented too much damage, but the weight that had struck her remained. Eyes groggily opened, sat on the young feline's chest was a fully grown raccoon; brown and orange fur in patches all over her face and bright blue eyes smiling down at her. She'd changed a lot but, almost immediately, Heather recognised the older woman's face.

Aunty Marine. Memories of those 'princess tea parties' came flooding back, wearing stupidly billowy pink dresses and strutting around the castle grounds. Whenever Mum and Dad were busy with work, Aunty Marine would take over babysitting. She'd let the young princess do things she, probably, shouldn't; stay up late watching pirate movies, eat ice cream for breakfast and, most irresponsible of all, play princess with the royal treasures. Marine, who would tell her stories of pirates and princesses on the fly, talking for hours on end with next to no prompting but always capturing the young feline's attention. Of all the things she'd shunned in growing more mature, Marine was the linchpin.

Having caught herself staring, still very much beneath the racoon, Heather attempted to compose herself. "G-Good evening Aunty Marine. I-I…" She bit back a snarl, cursing her stutter. "I hope you're well?"

"Aww, mate, knock it off with the formal stuff. By the looks of you I'd thought you'd changed, are you still playin' Princess even now? Hardly look like it though," Did she have to be so loud? When was she going to get off, at least there was no one around. Suddenly a hand was on her forehead, thumb rubbing her jewel before she reached up to ruffle more fur. "Where's all the pink gone? You'd have died for that colour last I saw ya, everthin' had to be pink no matter what. I see you've takin' on a couple of the pirate aesthetics though, earrings are lookin' rippa mate. Surprised your mum let you get that so soon, still, I can…"

The princess' head was spinning, when she was a child Marine's mannerism and endless capacity to speak had been compelling but now she could hardly stomach it. Would she ever stop? Were they going to stay like this until the sunset? She felt her cheeks flare in embarrassment.

"…You've gotten real big haven't ya? When I was last about you were hardly at my waist but now-

An opportunity! The exhausted feline cut in, "D-Do you think you're still taller than me?"

"Oh, that's a good question mate! Let's find out then, hurry up and get up!" Immediately the raccoon was on her feet, a hand extended to Heather.

She opted to take it, dusting herself off having risen. Now that she'd remembered the Raccoon she couldn't help noticing some changes. For one, her dual pigtails had now morphed into a singular boomerang-shaped ponytail. For another, a dark green long-coat and waders had replaced her green sundress. She was tall too, a few inches taller than Heather herself and maybe a couple more than Mum.

"Nah, you're still a shorty. Might beat me someday but you'll never beat ya Dad, how is that lanky dork anyway? Suppose we should set off and see 'em eh?"

Her blush hadn't yet faded but she managed to stand at attention, "Judging by your description, yes. He's as frighteningly foolish as he's always been."

"Aww, that's no way to talk about 'im. Sure he's a big doofus, but he's our big doofus. What, is he still callin' you his lil' Purpur." Heather's fur spiked, "Judgin' by the look of you, you wouldn't like that."

"He promised to stop just today actually," She relinquished, "Though, admittedly, he acted like I was a child afterwards…"

"Well, of course, he did mate, he's your Dad." The raccoon's smile reminded her of his, "Look. I know to you it probably seems like our ages are close, but when I first met your mother she was fourteen while I was seven. Those ages made a world of difference so, even now, I'm sure she won't think of me the same way as she does other adults. I'm like her little leech, and no matter how she tries to flick me away or embrace me; that's what I'll always be to her."

She blinked, "I'm… not sure I follow?"

"Look, your Dad's always gonna think of you as his little girl, so will your Mum for certain, but that doesn't mean you can't grow up. Bein' a kid in their eyes doesn't make you a kid forever mate."

"I guess that's true."

"Adulthood is what you make it, it can be all frilly and pink or, well, more like ya current self." Marine jabbed a thumb to the centre of her chest, "Look to me for inspiration, embrace the ocean! Go sailing, have a crew and sing shanties for years at a time. Bonza!" That didn't sound like proper adulthood, not at all, "Speaking of my crew though, I've got so many stories to share mate! One time we were…"

As anticipated, the raccoon continued to ramble for much of their journey back; her loudness drawing far more sets of eyes than the appearance of royalty. The young heiress found it easy yet difficult to listen. On one hand Heather felt a tinge of excitement and a wave of familiarity, the stories she told matched those she'd made up as a child; high adventure and excitement. But on the other, it was all told in such a childish way. They were the exact brand on nonsense she'd been rejecting.

In short, the sailor had set off on her own accord; bored with the normalcy of the island community following the final defeat of the Eggman family. She'd sailed from island to island, living off the land and bartering the treasures she discovered. The raccoon had been shipwrecked no fewer than twelve times over the eight years, much of her crew had abandoned her during the voyage and, for a length of time she referred to as eons, she'd fought on and off with her greatest rival; a giant squid or octopus, she'd never been quite sure.

It was only as they neared the house, the castle in view, her voice took on a quieter tone. "That old place looks dreary as ever, to be honest, I'm glad you parents moved out of it. All the suits of armour, the precious tapestries and all; just way too much fun to be had, way too easy to get into trouble." Her wide grin quickly returned, "Then again, that's the fun of it. Gardon chasin' after me, tryin' to make me sit still, how is the old fart?"

Heather bit back a sigh at the older woman's foolishness, a half-hearted attempt to maintain her composure in the face of such childishness. "He's well enough, perturbed to be relinquishing more of his duties but he still leads most of my lessons."

"Oh, right, I forgot he must be getting on. Well, he was already grey so I doubt much will have changed. I'll drop in and surprise him, I'm sure he'll have missed me." Before they could reach the front door, Heather felt a hand on her shoulder. Immediately Marine was much too close to the young girl's ear, half whispering. "Oi, I've got a wager for you mate."

Her left ear flickered, "A wager?"

A cunning had washed over bright blue eyes, "When I go in there Silver will surely give me a hug, talking about how he'd missed me, but when he finally releases Blaze will notice how grubby I am and give me a proper earful. I'll give you half my venture's fortune if I'm wrong."

"But… why would you risk that?"

"Just to prove to ya that they'll treat me like I always have, just like you'll always be your daddy's lil' Purpur." At that, Heather could no longer hold her peace.

She stomped her way forward and quickly unlocked the door, holding it open for Marine to enter; glower plain on her face. Heather could stand the childish stories and even the raccoon's ignorance of personal space, but the fluttering in her chest as she heard those words in that nostalgic tone was far too much.

"I am Heather, heir to the throne of Sol and-

"How long has it been since I last kissed you?" Suddenly, Heather's frown was overwhelmed by redness, her fists balled and her eyes closed tight. She knew what was happening; she knew it far too well.

"It was when you arrived, couldn't be more than twenty minutes ago..." Purrs were reverberating up the hall; she could picture it in her mind's eye, bodies so close as they idly waltzed around the kitchen.

"Such a long time…" Heather shuddered; that sentence was undoubtedly paused for a kiss. They were in the living room, they knew a guest was coming, how could they be schmaltzy at a time like this! "I missed you today."

"I missed you more." Heather felt her fur spike, a glance to Marine found the raccoon chuckling; hand plastered over her mouth.

"Oh? Do you really think so?" Why did Mum have to entertain this? She'd been the inspiring guardian of their entire nation since birth, fighting robots and monsters with class, composure, style and dignity. Stern, serious and without scruples… that was, unless Dad was present. If the public knew of their cutesiness they'd surely coup. "I suppose I'll just have to show you the truth then... always forgetting, so naïve." Undoubtedly, lip-lock had resumed. It was always like this in the evening; just before dinner they'd reunite with a kiss and a hug but tonight's sounded especially sappy and gross.

Heather felt her stomach turn; even knowing a guest was coming, they'd were kissing and hugging and being awful. Dad truly brought out the worst in Mum, drawing her in to kiss and cuddle Her eyes closed, head pressed against the door, how long would they keep going? How long until they started to wonder where she was?

Before she could consider it, a firm hand had grasped her own; she was being dragged along the hall. No matter how she dug her heels, Marine's strength seemed to dwarf her own. "Oi, mates! We're here! Did you not hear us come in!? Hello!"

The kitchen door was kicked in, Heather dared to open her eyes and found her parents exactly as he'd anticipated. A purple tail had wrapped around the hedgehog's waist, hands marked with psychic symbols clasped behind the feline's neck. Their foreheads had only just parted but, already, Dad was beaming his usual, stupid, smile.

Released from mum's grasp he shot over, arms binding not only Marine but Heather in a tight hug. "Marine! Its been so long!"

"Aww, big softy! I missed you too Silver, have you got even fluffier? Just don't remember it ticklin' this much," Heather struggled to fold her arms, casting her eyes to the wall. "Could use some warmth to complete the cuddle, think you can handle that Blaze? Don't think lil' Purpur can handle it on her own."

"You're not five minutes back and you've already trampled dirt throughout the house," Things were going exactly as Marine said, "After all these years, I knew I shouldn't have expected any better but, really Marine?"

Marine just laughed, Heather felt the raccoon's arms wrap tighter around her. "Get in here, I'll deal with the mess later; I promise, I promise."

Heather could practically hear her mother roll her eyes, "I highly doubt that."

Despite her reprimand, the Queen quickly joined the huddle; Heather felt a warm hand between her shoulder blades. Trapped, the kitten eventually conceded to the hug; certain a long and embarrassing evening awaited her.

#silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #fanchild #OC #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #blaze #silver #fanfiction #marine #Marine The Raccoon #sol dimension #fanfic #heather #I guess I should have that tag for if/when i write more of her?

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eternityunicorn · 5 years

Text

Elijah’s Eternity: New Orleans Part Twelve +18

Author: eternityunicorn

Genre: Romance/Drama/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Violance, Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: Sequel to the AU Elijah’s Eternity - Ten years have passed, a mournful Elijah has finally started to move on without his lady. In that time, he has gained a reunited family and has also found a new lady love. Yet, all is not well as danger comes for the smallest member of the Mikaelson family: Hope, and it prompts Niklaus to call upon the white goddess, drawing her back into Elijah’s life. As they reunite, can Elijah really say he’s truly moved on?

NOTE: OC and original elements are from my up and coming novel series!

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Elijah escorted Eternity all over the French Quarter, but not just to enjoy the day with her. He found he was deeply concerned about what he had seen earlier. Céleste’s face continued to haunt him, chasing after him like an apparition that wouldn’t leave him be. He went looking for her in a subtle way, taking his lady all over the place, trying to see if he could find the long dead witch while acting as a tour guide to the immortal queen. Yet, there wasn’t any sign of her.

Just what in the hell was going on?

“Elijah, you saw something earlier,” Eternity finally said to him, as they reached the docks. “You are troubled, searching for something or someone. A witch? Ah, an old flame that is supposedly long dead.”

She was searching his thoughts, yet he didn’t care. He wanted to be open to her, always.

“Céleste DuBois, yes,” interjected Elijah, as he looked out over the water. He had let go of Eternity’s hand and now stood a little ahead of her with his hands shoved into his pants pockets, a sign of his troubled state of mind. “I saw her earlier or something that looked like her anyway.”

His lady came closer to him, “I did not sense evil or any sort of power. Though that doesn’t mean that something sinister isn’t going on, of course.”

He turned back to her and saw the concern upon her lovely features. Immediately he went to her, cupping the side of her neck with a soft smile and then pulling her into his embrace. Holding Eternity calmed Elijah’s stormy thoughts. The feel of her warmth and the sweet scent that seemed to permeate through every part of her was exactly what he needed at the moment. She gave him clarity - and peace.

Pulling back a little, he kissed Eternity’s forehead tenderly. “I apologize for dragging you around,” he said quietly. “I should have told you what I saw when it had happened. Instead, not only did I take you all over the place with ulterior motives, but I also forced you to search my thoughts for the reason to my strange behavior.”

Eternity smiled at him,“Elijah, it’s alright. I’d probably do the same, if an apparition of my former lover showed up out of the blue. Don’t worry, we’ll find out the truth of this matter. For now, let’s go home.”

Elijah took her hand in his again and brought it to his lips, kissing the palm gently. Then, still with her hand in his, he lead her away from the docks and headed back to the Mikaelson compound.

For the rest of the day, the two of them spent cooped up in his study. Elijah and Eternity spent that time attempting to figure out what he had seen or rather what it could mean. The immortal queen had tried multiple different spells and powerful tricks, but came back with nothing. Eternity was the most powerful immortal there was, yet even she couldn’t find the origin of what it was he had seen. Not the energy of a spirit or of someone pulling the strings.

“I am powerful, not all powerful,” she explained to him, when she kept coming back empty handed. “Perhaps, there is someone cloaking their power, keeping me from seeing them. Though it doesn’t help that we don’t know to what end anyone would want to send visions of your former flame, if they were visions at all. Maybe whomever this is, is Earth-based. An old enemy of yours? You and your kin do have a lot of people you’ve angered over the years, but if that’s the case, then they are definitely partnered with someone from the other side of the divide.”

Elijah thought about it. It was possible there was someone out there with a vendetta against him. In fact, it was very plausible. It wouldn’t be the first time some former lover or friend came out of the woodwork with some grievance against him personally or one against his family. And if this someone found a partner from the Immortal Universe, much like his own brother had once upon a time, then that made them all the more dangerous.

“But who would care enough to form such an alliance on the immortal side?” He wondered. “I doubt it’s Bruno. This doesn’t seem like something he would bother with, as gaining power is his goal.”

Eternity nodded, “Aye, it’s not my brother and there’s only one other person whom knows you from the Immortal Universe that is of darkness.”

He knew exactly to whom she referred, “Loki? But how is that even possible? He’s dead.”

“Nothing is impossible, especially where he is concerned,” she smiled humorlessly at him. “It’s very possible that he’s up to something beyond the grave. What that something is, I can’t begin to guess, but if it is him, that apparition you saw is no doubt just the beginning of whatever scheme he has planned.”

Elijah didn’t like the sound of that. Loki was supposed to be gone for good, yet Eternity was telling him that the Trickster could be up to no good from beyond the grave. Again, they didn’t know what it was that he was attempting to accomplish, except for driving Elijah to madness perhaps. One would think that Loki’s target would be Eternity herself since she was the one that he was obsessed with and the one that had killed him, but it seemed the Trickster wasn’t interested in being predictable, choosing the Original as his target - if it were indeed him as the cause, of course.

“We’ll just have to wait and see if Céleste shows herself again or if some other new development occurs,” the immortal queen told him. “Then maybe we can start to piece together whatever is going on.”

Elijah sighed defeatedly, “Yes, I suppose that is the best course of action.”

Eternity grinned humorously at him then, a little laugh escaping her, which prompted him to gaze at her curiously.

“I’m unclear as to what you find funny here, Sweetheart,” he said sternly, folding his arms across his chest. “Care to share?”

“Forgive me,” she replied, “I was just thinking about how glad I am that you’re the patient one, unlike your hybrid brother Niklaus. Then I had a humorous vision of him wanting to burn the Universal Kingdom and beyond to the ground looking for Loki or whoever the culprit is in this, as we both know he would. It was rather cartoonish, the rage of which he was using, in my vision.”

Elijah then smirked, “Well, who’s to say that I don’t want to do the same? I might be calmer than Niklaus, but I can be just as ruthless and determined as him. Maybe burning down the entirety of your kingdom is the course of action I wish to take.”

Eternity rolled her eyes at him, “I should say not, you’re not reckless or impulsive enough to want to take on the entire Universal Kingdom. I could see your brother going head first into confrontation with the Immortal Universe without considering the fact that he is in no real position to make threats or demands, nor is he capable of contending with those on that side of the divide in the first place. Despite being completely out of his element and lacking any real knowledge of the immortals, Niklaus would play alpha and stroll about as if he owned the place. It wouldn’t go over well at all - for him, I mean.”

He chuckled as the imagery of his little brother going around and trying to command those stronger than him danced around in his mind. Yes, that was rather humorous and completely plausible. It was fortunate that Niklaus didn’t have the means to travel that far and that he was stuck being an Earth-based immortal with the same limitations of travel as humans.

“I admit,” he said to Eternity, “that is quite amusing to think about and you’re correct in that I would never behave in such a reckless way. It’s certainly not my style.”

She approached him then with a fond smile and he immediately drew her against him bodily, unable to resist doing so. Her hands wound around his neck and her fingers threaded through his short hair. Then they kissed passionately, her lips upon his in a dominating fashion.

“I know you’re worried about this new development with your former,” Eternity murmured against his mouth, a twinkle of mischief in her sapphire eyes, “but maybe I can help take your mind off it, even if for only a little while.”

This was it, he thought. This was the moment that Elijah had been waiting for in the months he spent reconnecting with Eternity. Finally, it felt right to make love to her, as he had desired to since her return into his life.

Elijah didn’t move to stop her as she kissed him even more vigorously and let her push him back until he collided with one of his ceiling to floor bookcases. The shelves and their contents rattled with the force she used, but neither paid much attention to it. He grunted in response to the rough treatment, but quickly recovered.

His hands were on her instantaneously, running up her back and then gripping the silky fabric of the light blue sundress she was wearing in his strong grip and cleanly tearing it in two. Once the ruined dress pieces were tossed aside, Elijah cupped one of her breasts and kneaded it firmly in his palm. His other hand reached up to tangle in the hair at the back of her head, fisting it tightly and tearing her mouth from his.

They stared at each other; their chests heaving wildly in their passion, their eyes burning with pent up need that they had been holding back from each other over the past few months. It was only a beat before Elijah’s mouth was upon hers again in a dominant and devouring kiss, his tongue darting into her mouth where he tasted her like a starved man. She could only cling to him in his frenzy, gripping his shirt in her hands as she let him have his way.

Then with her superior strength to his, Eternity pushed him back into the bookshelves again, ripping her mouth from his in the process. This time things came crashing down off the selves around them, but neither immortal cared. Their eyes were locked upon each other as they stared in that wild, frenzied sort of way again for a split second, before the queen began tearing his clothes from his body in the same way he had her. Her little hands proceeded to tug his suit jacket from him, undo his tie deftly, and then she literally tore his dress shirt into two, so that his upper body was completely bared to her.

She admired him before she started on a downward path. Her mouth attached itself to his jaw, his neck, his chest, his abdomen. Her hands trailed after her lips, touching him so delightfully that he felt himself shiver slightly in pleasure at the light contact. His eyes remained on her as she knelt before him on her knees, kissing his skin just above the hem of his pants. Then her gaze returned to his face for a second, a wicked smirk upon her pink lips, before she eagerly undid his belt and opened his pants, tugging them and his boxers down just enough to expose his hardened length.

Eternity didn’t waste another moment. Her mouth enveloped him like a starved woman, taking him into the warm wet cavern and swirling her tongue over the hot flesh of his cock as she did. It was instantaneous that his hands found their way to be tangled in her hair. His head lulled back against the bookshelves as his eyes screwed shut from the wonderful feeling of her mouth upon him. He parted as his heart rate climbed from her attentions.

Then she began to bob, taking him in and out of her mouth steadily. He couldn’t help it when his hips bucked in response to his lady’s ministrations. It wasn’t long before instinct drove him to take control and he began to thrust in and out of her mouth of his own accord. It was incredible a feeling, especially as she relinquished control to him. However, when he got to the point he could feel the end approaching, he forced her to withdraw.

With her hair fisted in one hand and that suave finesse of his, Elijah knelt down gracefully like a predator before her. “I don’t normally use crude terms,” he said with a quiet rumble, “but Sweetheart, I am going to fuck you until you beg me to stop...and then some.”

Eternity moaned and shivered at his words, her tongue poking out to lick her lips. Her sapphire eyes flashed at him in their burning with need. “Do it,” she challenged wantonly, her voice rough from her own passion.

Elijah pulled her mouth to his then, kissing her fervently. As he did, he moved slowly to push her back against the hardwood floor until she lay flat with him hovered over her, between her parted thighs. Her hands raked up his back and tangled into his short hair, while one of his reached between their bodies to align his cock with her wet entrance.

With one hard thrust, he was inside her and he stilled upon burying himself to the hilt. The feeling of it was intense, especially since they had been apart for over a decade. He had forgotten just how wonderful it really was to be inside the goddess - his goddess. But he didn’t remain paused for long as his body cried out for him to take her to the fullest of his ability.

He wasn’t gentle as he took her. His thrusts were rough and needful, but Eternity wasn’t exactly idle or gentle either. Her nails continued to rake up and down his back, while they continued to kiss passionately, his mouth having never left hers. He snarled into her mouth from her much welcomed abuse and it drove him to take her even harder and faster then before until she was letting out a muffled scream.

One of his hands returned to tangling in her hair, while the other supported him on the floor beside her head. The needful, animalistic energy between them was so greatly intense that Elijah found himself digging his fingers into the hardwood, splintering it from the strength he subconsciously used and leaving claw marks with bits of blood there as a result. He didn’t even notice it or the pain it caused, as he was simply lost in Eternity.

Elijah carried on obliviously, fucking Eternity into the floor until she was tearing her mouth from his and screaming at the top of her lungs from the pleasure that wrecked her body - all of which was his doing. It wasn’t long before they had reached their peaks and were tumbling over it together in a blinding bliss that left them both screaming to the heavens as their orgasms tore through them.

Elijah collapsed upon Eternity in a momentary bout of weakness, his energy zapped from him. His form trembled against her quaking one. Finally, he thought in his euphoria, finally she was his entirely again. He laid a kiss to her neck, where he had buried his face in the aftermath of their joining.

They rested there without words being exchanged. They were simply contented. However, it wasn’t long before the wild passion they had for each other was reignited and they were once more tangled in each other. So lost were they to their need that they hadn’t sensed nor seen the shadowy figures floating just outside the study windows, watching them with sinister intent before vanishing again.

To Be Continued...

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lykaonimagines · 6 years

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Positive (Part 7) - Loki x Reader

Sorry for the longer wait on this one guys, super long week with things going wrong >.> Finally was able to just sit down and write it. I also did a few edits for this part that I thought would be fun, and will be at the bottom of the story!

Hope you all enjoy, and let me know if you want to be tagged :)

Paring: Loki x Reader

Part #: 7

Word Count: 2,022

Description: A mutant member of the Avengers finds out she’s pregnant with her boyfriend Loki’s baby, are they ready for this?

Warnings: Pregnancy, jealousy

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Masterlist

(Gif doesn’t belong to me)

As Loki finds himself on the New York streets again, his steps feel lighter than he can remember in a long time. Finding the bench he previously occupied a few months prior when he felt the weight of the universe on his shoulders, he takes a moment to sit and take it all in.

His love, the most spectacular woman in the nine realms, he has no doubt, is his. She’s alive, and well, and everything he never knew he needed. “If only mother had been able to meet you,” he says softly as he scrolls through their walls of texts. Ever the affectionate one, she reminded him regularly exactly what he meant to her, something he appreciated more than he could ever begin to explain.

Then their daughter. His daughter. He somehow had something to do with that little wiggling being they saw on the screen. How he’d been given the chance after all he’s done to bring a child into existence, he didn’t know. How two people with some of the worst experiences involving parenting, were now being given this innocent being to care for and do right in a way they weren’t.

As much as he didn’t like to admit it, the Avengers themselves were a part of this new life he was falling in love with. Through Y/N and their coming daughter, he’d been spending more time with the other Avengers, and coming to actually enjoy the presence of his new found family. They’d accepted him in after everything he’d done, even if there were still plenty of comments made. They were still all a bit… much for him at times. But the way they care for Y/N and their child, is worth any of that.

Then Thor. The ever present shadow he felt he was always in. Thor’s brother. Always was just Thor’s brother. Finding out he wasn’t even the shadow role he’d been stuck in had hurt him more than he could ever have expected. Though he still loved Thor as a brother, and the last year in the tower had been good for them. He finally felt he could stand beside Thor as a brother, and not just a shadow.

Which led to the last thing. Acceptance. Discovering himself. Knowing himself and who he is. All of them together had combined to contribute to that. But he awards that mainly to his daughter. Trying to step up and actively be a the man she deserves as a father, that she can be proud of, and that she can depend on.

There was just one last problem. Loki smirks to himself as he scrolls through his phone photos of Y/N and he. Countless selfies she’d taken of them fill up his gallery, with random photos of himself with captions she’d left. “Just one last piece.”

Not quite sure where to begin, he finds himself drifting toward the familiar book store once again. Spotting the worker from his previous visit, he quickly walks over, “Could you direct me to the books on crafting jewelry?”

(From Loki’s phone)

Collapsing down into the office chair of his newly rented hotel room, Loki sorts through the things he’s bought, books on the history of ring designs, crafting jewelry, midgardian customs, several sketch pads, and some pencils. “This is going to be nearly impossible to hide,” he groans to himself looking around the room.

He sighs and finally sets himself to work flipping through the books, and sketching out bits and pieces he likes as time goes by.

Y/N comes out of their shared room, Loki’s sweatshirt over her and their bed sheets cocooned around her body. Everything ached and she was so damn cold.

Stephen had let her return to the dormitory floors under the promise she’d go straight to bed. Which she did. For a little while.

Walking out to the living room she finds Bucky alone watching movie on the couch.

“Buck,” she whines pulling the covers around herself tighter.

He jumps, having been so entranced in the show and his eyes darting to her, “Y/N! You’re supposed to be in bed! You can’t be up walking around with fresh stitches.”

“Have you seen Loki?” She asks looking out the window, the sky starting to darken. “He left at like 10:30 this morning and he’s still not come back to the room.”

“Haven’t seen him,” Bucky replies finally pausing his movie. “I don’t think he came back yet.”

She frowns and then sighs loudly looking at her friend with pleading eyes, “Bucky, I’m sooooo cold.”

“Then get back in bed,” he responds with a grin.

“It’s not helping,” she whines back at him, trying to make herself look as sad as possible. “This girl is half ice giant Buck, she’s freezing me from the inside out.”

His eyes widen in realization as he pats the seat next to him, “Didn’t think of that Y/N, here come watch the movie with me.”

She quickly crawls onto the couch, and snuggles into her friend’s warmth with a content sigh, “So warm.”

He rolls his eyes and puts an arm around her before starting the movie back up as they sit in comfortable silence.

“Is this really old Zorro?” She mumbles, her mind starting to get fuzzy with sleep.

“Yeah,” he responds rubbing her shoulder. “One of my favorites from back before I enlisted.”

“Hm,” she nods. “So what did you do for fun in the 1940s then beyond Zorro, Grandpa?”

He smirks down, “Oh the usual. Camping, some woodworking occasionally, and taking out the dames to the local dances.”

“Scandalous man you are Bucky,” she chuckles. “And how was Steve with these dames?”

Bucky throws his head back with a laugh, “Oh just the complete and utter ladies man he is to this day Y/N. You know our Steve, the regular heart breaker.”

“Those poor girls, never knew what they were in for,” she clicks her tongue. “Steve the Casanova he is.”

“So how are you feeling?” He asks suddenly.

“A lot warmer,” she replies happily. “You exude manly heat.”

“You exude manly heat.” Loki hears as he enters the kitchen behind the living room. His chest tightening as he hears Y/N’s familiar laugh tangled with one of the male Avenger coming from the next room.

“I aim to please miss.”

He slams the bag of food in his hands on the counter, the bang causing the pair to go silent.

“Bruce don’t Hulk out in the kitchen!” Y/N yells over, followed by more laughter.

Steeling his face, Loki presses on into the living room where he finds Y/N curled up into Bucky, his arm around her. “Wrong Avenger,” he responds with a tense smile. “So what exactly is going on here?”

“Loki!” Y/N yells, her eyes lighting up. “The long lost prince has finally returned.”

Bucky makes a gagging noise as he lifts his arm from around her shoulders, acknowledging the slightly menacing gaze he’s getting from Loki.

“As I said I would,” he responds, his eyes still flickering between her and the other man. “What have you two been up to? And why aren’t you in bed?”

“I was so damn cold,” Y/N states, “That frost giant DNA is freezing me from the inside I swear. I came out here looking for you, but someone has been gone all day. So I’m using Bucky for his warmth and watching his old man movie.”

His eyes widen immediately, “How cold? Is it burning? Are you in pain?”

“No no no,” she says holding a hand up to stop him, “Just feel’s like I’m unprepared for the cold weather I’ve walked out into. Nothing serious.”

Loki nods and continues to look at her, his chest still tight from her words. “I’m sorry I can’t be the one to help with that,” he says stiffly.

“Your sweatshirt helps,” she grins lifting the sheets from around her body.

He forces a small smile, “I’m guessing you won’t be wanting that ice cream then. Luckily I brought some warm food as well if you haven’t eaten. Which you haven’t I’m assuming?”

Her face turns slightly red, “Yeah… I haven’t thought about it.”

He sighs and holds his hands out to help lift her from the couch, “You get in bed, I will bring the food.”

“Sounds good prince charming,” she says with a wink, and stretches up to kiss his cheek.

After Y/N has made it back to their room, Loki’s gaze immediately goes back to Bucky.

“I was comforting my cold pregnant friend, prince charming,” he says turning his movie back on. “Don’t get bent out of shape.”

Loki scowls at him, “I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t curl up romantically with my girlfriend on the couch.”

Bucky smirks back at him rolling his eyes, “Romantically? Someone worried?”

“No!” Loki yells back crossing his arms. “I’d just appreciate you keeping your hands off my girlfriend Buchanan before I have to do something about it.”

Bucky leans back against the couch unfazed, “If you couldn’t tell that was merely friendly comfort and you are that unconfident in your relationship, you have worse things to worry about.”

“I just almost fucking lost her for Odin’s sake,” Loki snaps. “Of course I am fucking worried mortal. I trust her. But I just almost lost her. I… I don’t need to explain this to you.”

The other man’s expression softens as he pulls himself up from the couch, and walking over to him putting a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “You should be more open like that, it makes you a lot more likable. But understand this, she’s a good friend and I was just comforting her. Even if I was interested, she’s very obviously in love. Don’t strain that with jealousy.” He turns the tv off before leaving to go back to his own room, leaving Loki standing in the middle of the room processing everything.

Finally he moves from his spot to take care of the ice cream and grab the dinner he’d brought them back to their bedroom. Setting the food out on the table in their room, he feels her arms snake around his waist.

“So…” she says softly laying a cheek against his back.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” he responds with a sigh, trying to shrug out of her embrace. “You’re going to make yourself colder.”

However, she clings onto him tighter, “Worth it.”

The tightening in chest starts to relax at her words, “Really now?”

“I missed you,” she responds, kissing his back. “I’ve been thinking about our little girl.”

“Me too,” he says as he twists in her grip so he’s facing her. “I’m going to have two exquisite girls in my life, I’m a very lucky undeserving man.”

She smiles up at him, “No, you’re a strong, intelligent, sensitive, passionate, and loving man that’s gone through a lot to be the man I wake up next to every morning.”

His eyes start to prickle at her words, all tension leaving his body as he stares into her eyes, “Y/N…”

“So I might not be able to have that ice cream right now,” she states smirking up at him. “But I believe I have one other request owed to me. And I plan on collecting it.”

“Oh Is that right?” He asks, his lips coming near her own, able to feel his cool breath on her face. “Remind me, what is that?”

“I believe, your highness, that you owe me a kiss,” she whispers back.

“I couldn’t refuse you now could I?” He asks before pressing their lips together. The sweet simple kiss growing more passionate as his tongue slips into her mouth. She groans into his mouth, pulling him flush with her own body, her knees starting to go a little weak when he breaks the kiss.

She gasps for air as she stares up at the god in her arms. “Satisfactory darling?”

“Very much so. But I have a question,” she replies.

“Hm?” He responds stroking her back.

“Where have you been all day?”

Uh oh.

----------------------------

Y/N’s snaps of her life with Loki & the team

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 6 Part 8 Masterlist

Tag List: Sorry if some didn’t tag properly, some were giving me issues :$ And hopefully I didn’t forget anyone. Thank you all of you for following this ❤️

@ihavenofilter @zombiefied-gay-ghost @talinalani @chloe-skywalker @shanetoo @shitty-imagines-95 @roryomxlley @afangirlamongotherthings @servamp-addict @moonfaery @thefallenbibliophilequote @arielletheavenger @lucacangettathisass @draconicyeet @i-love-loki-its-unhealthy @tokoyamisstuff @whennoonethinksyoucanyoumust @ximi27 @throughartistseyes @islaylivesinshire @starfox-92 @ink-and-starlight @markusstraya @peacefulfall @maximofos @hiddlestoner3059 @theartsypoetess @heart-shaped-hell @twiling-lady @beaisahuntress @my–heroine @starlight-in-the-universe @imnomundanenoramuggle @h3artshaped-box @sarahivi @the1weliveinnow

#loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x oc #loki imagine #positive #marvel

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chezzkaa · 6 years

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Numb pt 14

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2800+

FLUFFY AF. Also angsty. Warnings for death and the likes. Thanks to @trevorcollumns for being here in person to nag me to start posting shit. I’m going to try and schedule everything weekly. October will hopefully be a productive period for Numb writing.

Date posted: 30 Sept 2018

By the time you’re preparing for the long journey to the airport to collect your lodgemates Trevor and Alfredo, 2 more weeks have already passed.

In the snowy mountains nothing seems affected by time. A world trapped in a white shock of stagnancy. Not that you mind - having rather enjoyed the small pocket of domestic life you’ve found yourself in. The calendar in the kitchen is littered with small blue stars that mark off every storm, every few days seeing another blotch on the corner of a date. There hadn’t been many recently, with everyone in town commenting on the expected silence that comes just before the worst of winter. The world was simply giving Motbury a few days to bunker down before the weather well and truly hits. Sure, snow had fallen, but the wind hadn’t howled.

Still, the date on the calendar stares at you, their names scrawled across the small square. The smile stretching across your face at the thought of having your home filled again follows you out the front door and into the crisp morning, dancing with the sunrays that accompany the well traversed path to Hay Woodworks. The banks smaller than usual and almost free of snow, green grass struggling towards the light.

You’re at the shop every day that Ryan will let you, which is practically whenever you’d like. Each time he greets you with a beam so bright it’s blinding, arms holding you against him in a tight and warm embrace that you never want to leave. Today is no different. He waits for you on the front steps, smile so wide that you can see it as soon as the building comes into view. He’s always there now. Waiting with a cup in one hand and knife in the other, small hunk of wood stable on his knees. A blotch of colour against the crystal white brought in by the occasional heavy night of snow. Every day you wonder just how many plaid shirts he owns.

“Hey there,” Ryan greets, placing his tools down and standing with a groan, “you look happy this morning.”

“Hey,” you smile into his shoulder, slipping comfortably into his arms. As his hand comes to rest on the small of your back, you suppress the urge to sigh. “Am I not allowed to look happy?”

He laughs, the chuckle an easy rumble against the ear pressed to his chest. His other arm winds around you, the cup coming into view. “No one’s this happy in the morning. It’s suspicious.”

You don’t respond, eyes locked on the drink. “Is that cup of tea for me?”

“Maybe,” he toys, letting you go and bringing the cup to his lips. “But maybe I made it for me.”

“Nice try, asshole.” You snatch it away before he can take a sip, grinning and hurriedly disappearing into the shop. “You don’t even like tea.”

“You get back here young lady!”

“No!”

“Y/N!”

You can't help the giggles, joy tumbling from your lips and threatening to trip you with every object and corner you veer around. Not chancing a look back for fear of falling, you abandon the cup where you can, the heavy foot falls still rushing after you. The back room is in sight, an unspoken safe zone that you power towards with more speed than you've mustered in years. It catches him off guard, but a dark chuckle that sends shivers up your back is all you hear before the ground disappears from beneath you.

With your arms crushed to your side, your struggles do absolutely nothing against Ryan's hold. His laugh is warm beside your ear, tickling hairs and sending shots of electricity across your skin while he carries you the rest of the way. “C'mon Ryan,” you wheeze, “this is cheating!”

“This is being?”

He’s smirking, and you can feel it burning into your back as you wriggle. Your hands can’t find purchase, and every time you think you’ve broken the hold his arms hug you tighter. “This is you using your glorious lumberjack arms to keep me from running rampant.”

“Glorious?” He turns the word over, wandering towards the back room and shifting through the sawdust.

“Rampant,” you repeat over the uncomfortable blush making your flirtatious joke a little more honest than you're willing to admit, the smell of wood filling your lungs. “Rampant through the streets!”

He’s not letting it go, tone more nervous than teasing. “Did you just call your boss glorious?”

"Ryan," you huff, ignoring the flip of your stomach as he draws to a stop and still doesn’t put you down, “You're missing the point. You're clearly cheating and withholding me from my true potential.”

“With my lumberjack arms?”

“Yes.”

“That you think are glorious.”

“What? Y-yes? I guess, but that isn’t important.”

The floor is a shock against your soles, so sudden that your knees bend. Ryan’s languishing in your comment, eyes searching your face once you’re able to look up at him. Though his grip loosens, you don’t step away, lost in the blue lakes that trace across your expression. A breathy laugh sees the corner of his lips quirk upward, but only slightly. “That’s a little inappropriate for the workplace,” he murmurs. His hands have moved to your waist, palms radiating a heat that works its way into the pit of your stomach. “Don’t you think?”

You can’t help leaning into him, palms coming to rest lightly against his chest. His heart thumps in your hands. “Oh no,” you breathe, “you’re not going to report me to head office, are you?”

“I am head office,” he reminds around a thick smile, looking down at you through long lashes. He’s getting closer, forehead inches from perching against yours. You take a step forward, having to rise up on your tiptoes to get your bodies flush together. He closes the gap. “But I’m certain we can come to some kind of disciplinary arrangement.”

“I really hope so,” you manage, hands gliding up his torso and looping behind his neck. “Because I really do love my job.”

“We’re very lucky to have you on the team.”

“You bet your ass you are.”

The words barely get past your lips before Ryan’s pressing his against them, soft and warm. You melt instantly, and at the touch of his thumb against your jaw you’re completely smitten. Your fingers wind a little too roughly into his hair, but rather than a yelp you receive a moan that has your skin tingling. His tongue meets yours enthusiastically, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathing around each other, caught in the moment and surrounded in saw dust.

At first you don’t hear it, but eventually the steady demand of your phone sees you breaking reluctantly away. Smiling apologetically, you quickly slip from his arms, body stinging in the newfound cold as you check the screen. Your stomach drops. Any fire that had been roaring quickly extinguished with the name. Casting a glance back to Ryan, who looks rather unravelled while he busies himself with something, anything, to hide the blush adorning his cheeks, you collect your stuff.

“I’m sorry Rybread, I’ve gotta go.”

“What?” The question is short. Like a pop of surprise as he turns completely to watch you leave. “Are you alright? Did I overstep a boundary-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you call, breaking into a jog and exiting the building before he can ask anything else. “I’ll call you tomorrow!”

The station is quiet, building mourning and sorrow slipping through the halls. The stairs have never been so difficult. Each step sees your knees beg to lock or buckle. A palm pushes open the door, and Michael’s grim expression greets the knots in your stomach. He isn’t behind the reception this time, instead leaning against the desk with his arms folded. He’s shaken. Eyes lined red and nose a delicate pink.

You find your voice, but it’s alien in the abandoned cold room. “How long ago did you find the body?”

“A few hours ago,” Michael replies, standing up and coming to stand in front of you. Your feet have rooted themselves to the carpet. He places a careful hand on your shoulder, urging you on. “If that. We haven’t told the family yet. Jeremy wanted to have the coroner check it all out before we went to the parents. And, well…”

“He wanted me to see her, too.”

“Pretty much.” he sighs, a noisy exhale that rattles across the floor. “C’mon, she’s in the back.”

“We took a while to dig her up.”

“We’re lucky the snow acted to preserve her,” you reply, looking across the pale, bloated body and toward the man opposite. Jeremy doesn’t meet your gaze, too busy burying himself in his notes. “2 weeks is long enough for a body to degrade past recognition. We’ve really caught a break.”

“Have we?” His tone is a little sharper than you’re used too, but you don’t rise to the challenge you know isn’t there. Jeremy seems to realise his mistake, mumbling an apology in between excuses of exhaustion. “Just, it’s been a rough day.”

“No worries.” You draw closer, hands clammy in the gloves. “We better get started, then.”

“Yup.” He finally puts his files down, looking to the small girl between you two. His grimace is obvious, as are the pangs of sadness playing through his chest. “Okay. So. This is Laura, the one I came to you about a few weeks ago.”

“Where did you find her?”

“Behind your house. Near… hold on.” He checks the papers on the table. “Found in the same vicinity of victims 1, 2 and 4. She was buried pretty deep under a snow bank. But with the storms subsiding for the moment she was easier to find.”

“Okay, so at least we’ve got a pattern. 7, 1, 2 and 4 have been found in the same place, and 3, 5 and 6 are also grouped together. Weird selection of numbers, but at least it’s something to work with. Number 8 will most likely be found with the second grouping? Looks like the killer is a creature of habit, after all.”

He doesn’t look up. “If there’s a number 8.”

You don’t acknowledge the comment. “No sign of the skull, I’m guessing?”

“None.”

“And was she found in the same position as the others? Curled up on her side?” You’re taking the body between your gloved fingers, folding over her hand and peering at her palms.

“Yeah.”

“She didn’t put up a fight.”

This surprises him enough to look at you, eyebrows pulling together. “What makes you say that?”

“Her hands.” You check the other one and it’s as smooth as the first. “There’s no signs of resistance, and nothing under her fingernails.”

“What are these then?” He peers closer, finger tracing shallow grazes adorning her fingers.

You place her hands down, removing a glove and shoving your palm under Jeremy’s watchful eye. “They’re the same as mine. Small grazes from working with material I reckon. Look. Mine are a few days old, too. When the report gets back I’m certain we’ll find that she got them playing with sticks in the backyard. Or...” Your try not to gulp too loudly. “Or at the community garden. I think I remember seeing her there a few times, but I wasn’t around often enough.” You put a fresh glove on. “Besides, fighting against whatever left these gashes would do far more damage than what she’s got.”

“No, no that makes sense.” Jeremy is pacing, circling his side of the medical table with a pen thoughtfully resting against his chin. “Okay, so let’s run with the idea of her not fighting the attacker.”

“Do we know what killed her?”

“No,” he replies hollowly, “we can’t tell for sure without the head. Could be blunt force trauma, or it could be some of the wounds across her torso. That doesn’t really seem possible, though. They likely occurred post death, due to the slow blood flow and lack of struggle or tearing.”

Taking in the large gashes lacing her tiny body, you’re surprised she’s still holding together. Against your better judgement, you get closer, examining the wounds as best you can. Though excessive, they don’t appear very deep. Instead they’re long slashes, as though they were made with quick, repetitive movements. Tracing the line of one that resides against her ribcage, the blackened, curled skin remains hard beneath your touch. “What explanation do we have for the burns?”

“Frost bite,” is his only response. Glancing up, he reluctantly gives in. “Yeah, it doesn’t make sense. The lacerations aren’t swollen, and if it were frostbite the whole area would be black.”

“I see what you mean,” you murmur, voice growing stronger with the next breath. “What did the others die of? The earlier ones, I mean. Didn’t number 1 and 2 have trauma to the skulls, and an attempted removal?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, returning to the files and flicking through them. “Yeah, they did. They had lacerations on the back on the head.”

“Help me roll her over.”

“What?” He looks sick, paling with your request.

“You heard me. Come here and help me roll her on to her front.”

“We can just look at the pictures-”

“Jeremy.” Reluctantly he takes up a position, helping you ease her over. It’s not difficult, her weight barely anything, but she’s delicate. Like her skin will peel away as soon as you retract your hands. Once completed he stands back, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “J, are you alright?”

He nods stiffly, jaw setting and hands balling into fists. “Why did we turn her over?”

“I want to check something.” You lean in again, this time getting close enough for the subtle smell of damp rotting and spoiled egg to invade your nose. It doesn’t bother you, not once you find what you’re looking for. “It’s the same method.”

“What are you talking about?” He’s interested now, weak stomach settling with his peaking curiosity. Jeremy peers at where you point, taking in the small dip in the back of the body’s neck. Barely noticeable, it looks like a small tear that extends further than any of the other rips around the severing point.

“See?” You follow the line with a finger, movement too straight to be an unintentional result. “It looks like the incision point on the first 2. Hand me their files? - Yes! Here, look. It’s the same line and it extends to the same area. Do the others have this line, too?”

Jeremy rushes through their case files, locating their photos and lining them up beside the body. “Holy fuck, Y/N,” he practically chokes, a mixture of hope and distress clogging his throat. “You’re right. That means that, if this was the same guy, he’s been killing them the same way every time.”

“Killers don’t stray from their style, simply for comfort and confidence sake,” you respond, smiling despite yourself. “Would it be safe to say that all of the victims could have been killed by blunt force trauma before their skulls were removed? Even if we don’t have some of the skulls?”

“Yes! It explains the incision, and the fact number 7 didn’t fight back. A bludgeon would kill a child instantly with enough force.”

“Especially from behind like the pictures suggest.”

You’re both grinning, the macabre situation not putting a damper on your excitement for a new lead. Jeremy’s scribbling on a pad in an instant, grip on the pen turning his knuckles white.

Shaking yourself free from the moment, a few close up photos are taken on your phone, red lines circling the locations of interest. “Does the lab have any ideas on the murder weapon?”

At this his face falls, chest deflating. “No, the wounds were too messy, especially with the attempted removal of the skull. It’s shifted too much around. All they can tell is that it's a heavy and relatively wide object. Sharp maybe? Does more bludgeoning damage than anything.”

“Have they tried looking at the livestock?” Jeremy’s eyes go wide at your suggestion, and you can almost see him vibrating. “If we’ve still got some of their skulls around we could match the fracture patterns to specific objects.”

“You are a fucking genius. If we can figure it out, we might be able to trace the murder weapon! I’ll have to check with evidence, but I’m certain we’ll have some of the sheep skulls lying around, same with the fragments.”

“And once we know what weapon we’re looking for we can find out who has access to it. You know, I have a sneaking suspicion that the victims know who it was so if we focus locally we might have more luck.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Look at how they’re all lying. They weren't arranged like that, the reports tell us that much. What with the blood found at the scenes, and concentration of lacerations on specific sides. They were comfortable enough to curl in the snow with whoever it was that killed them.”

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atemusluckygal-fanfiction · 6 years

Note

(For the truth serum thing) Anzu, what are your true feelings towards Atem and Yugi? Are you in love with either of them?

Hi anon!

I’m going to answer this one with a slightly different perspective than how I portray her in my story Vices, just so you know. I think the answer below is a bit closer to canon, while “Vices” Téa is more certain of her feelings.

Get ready for quite a monologue…:

“Am I in love with either of them? Oh… yikes. I guess I have to be honest, right? The truth is… this question scares me, because it’s forcing me to answer a question I’m not fully able to answer.

The short answer is, I might be in love with both, and it’s very confusing.

To be clear, for a long time I thought that Yugi and Atem were the same person, until I realized that they weren’t. When they were both ‘Yugi’ to me, the answer was obvious: Yes, I… in a teenager way… loved Yugi. I was fifteen; who knows anything about themselves, or what they’re feeling, at fifteen? But when they became separate and distinguishable in identity and personality… that’s when I was really lost.

I’ve known Yugi for a long time. He was sweet, reliable, thoughtful of others to a fault. I loved him for that, but there was always some part of me that just wished he would grow a backbone and stand up for himself. I wanted him to be able to defend me as much as I was defending him. They say it’s hard to love someone who doesn’t love themselves, and I knew Yugi did not think kindly of himself. Then again, with the bullies reinforcing those thoughts on a daily basis, it was hard to blame him for getting stuck in that cycle of loneliness and low self-esteem. I admit, it’s hard to love that. But I did. Before I knew it, hanging out with him enough, I had feelings for him. Again, in the teenager way.

Then all of a sudden, things changed. Yugi came to school, and he was no longer carrying that golden box with him everywhere; he was wearing the pieces that it contained, assembled into a beautiful golden pyramid hanging from his neck on a cheap rope. And, I think even unbeknownst to him, he stood a little taller, his voice a bit louder, his smile had a little steel behind it. However subtle, I couldn’t deny the difference. I admit, I was surprised, but happy for him, assuming that this was a positive development.

Then weird things started happening. Criminals and mean-spirited people came out of the woodwork to target us, in addition to the clan of bullies already tormenting Yugi. It was almost like they were drawn to the puzzle, even if they didn’t know it. Things got scary. Each of us had a near-death experience at least once, Yugi several times.

And who came to save us?

Atem.

Well… he was ‘another side of Yugi’ at the time. In my dire time of need, when that pervert gym teacher attacked me, ‘Other Yugi’ was there, taking him out like he was a mere cockroach. I felt myself falling in love with a voice, a touch, a sense of security–all of which came from Yugi, even though it wasn’t quite Yugi… and this man saved me when Yugi couldn’t. He was the mysterious, clandestine hero that every girl wanted.

Again, in a teenager, stupid girl kind of way, I fell in love. I didn’t know who or what I was in love with, but the feeling I couldn’t deny.

Getting to know Atem, ‘Pharaoh’ for most of the time I’ve known him, was unorthodox to say the least. How do you separate your first impression from the person whom you’ve come to know, especially when you initially thought they were someone else? The answer is, you really don’t, not completely anyway. To me, Atem was Yugi, until he wasn’t, and every so often I forget that while they share a body, they’re two different men. As I got to know Atem, and as he himself grew into his own identity and sense of personhood, his ‘hero’ persona eased into more of a warrior of sorts, shouldered by unimaginable burden and responsibility. And, he was markedly different from Yugi. He was just as strong as Yugi was kind. He was just as stubborn as Yugi was thoughtful. He was just as rash as Yugi was considerate. Where he needed humility, Yugi needed confidence. On occasion, his warmth was comparable to Yugi’s kindness, but like how dark chocolate compared to salt-water taffy. Both sweet, but in different ways.

Like Yugi, Atem had yet to grow into himself. Guided by an innate sense of duty and power, sabotaged by real human flaws.

My idolatry gradually turned into a genuine, platonic love, as he became my friend, and romantic love, when he was finally human in my eyes, and finally able to acknowledge and manage his own shortcomings. Like Yugi before, Atem was hard to love when his opinion of himself was rock bottom, when he lost Yugi’s soul in his duel with Rafael. Unlike Yugi, however, Atem outwardly projected his guilt and insecurities onto others, including me. I helped him back up as a friend. Though by the time we got home, I was so disenchanted with him from our adventure, and so happy to see Yugi that I was convinced it was he, and only he who I loved.

I was wrong, of course. Because once I saw Atem again after that, seeing how tall he was standing, how his voice was sharper, his confidence restored, I fell head over heels again. I would’ve chased him into the afterlife, had Joey not stopped me.

Now that he’s gone… Yugi is the obvious choice, right? He is wonderful, and I still love him dearly, and he is such a grown version of himself since Atem’s influence that he seems like a whole new man I’m getting to know. Each day I grow closer to him, the Yugi I’ve always wanted, I’m beginning to wonder if I deserve him. If I ever deserved him.

He knows I loved his partner. He doesn’t hide things very well, and I know that piece of information strains our relationship, even though neither of us want it to.

…and that’s the truth.

Maybe I still need to grow into myself. Maybe I’m still stuck on that stupid girl love… in a teenager kind of way.

Hope you enjoyed :-) Thanks for the ask!

xo ALG

P.S. I may or may not steal some of this for a later Vices chapter XD

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 6 years

Note

your little recap of Lena and James's interactions in S2 and S3 so far only proves this: before 3.09, they had only one (1) scene in which they spoke to each other in a way that wasn't either slightly confrontational or outright hostile. their other scenes include him making 1 positive comment about her in a meeting, them disagreeing on how to run the company that she now owns, and him taking a bullet for her, something which is sort of in the job description for, I don't know, Guardian?

2/2 the real problem with the James and Lena relationship isn't that he has been horrible to her in the past. the problem is that the extent of their relationship prior to 3.09 is at best politeness (you can MAYBE make a weak case for an extremely casual friendship) and at worst, hostility. the writers make multiple characters say ''you two have chemistry' only because they know it's not apparent to viewers on its own. the problem is that it's forced, and fans of both characters deserve better

HeyAnon.

So,before we dig in here, I think I should reiteratesomething, since you don't appear to have acknowledged it in eitherof your messages: My 'little recap' isn't actually about theJames x Lena pairing—it's focused entirely on refuting the argumentthat James is a...ah, how does fandom put it? 'Problematic, toxicf***boy.' (Yep. Fandom's actual words. Just go skim through the Jamestag, I'm sure you'll find it eventually.)

Butyou clearly want to talk about the ship. Okay, let's talk about theship:

WhatI'm getting, from your messages, is that you feel the ship is rushedand underwritten/underdeveloped.

Hi,welcome to romance on Supergirl.

Actually,hi, welcome to just about everythingon Supergirl. This show burns through plot points and character arcsat a speed that would make Barry Allen green with envy. They're doinga nice job of teasing out the Reign plot, but guess what hasn't beenlovingly developed over multiple episodes? Kara's friendship withSam. They had, what. One episode? Where they interacted one-on-one? And suddenlyKara's gushing about how her year was better because of theirfriendship and they're hugging and smiling and...

What?When did this happen?

Here'swhere fandom's beloved cry of 'show don't tell' comes into play: Karais telling us thatshe's very good friends with Sam. She has to, because a handful of on-screen interactions does not a deep, meaningful relationship make, as you've pointed outin the case of James x Lena.

Sowhy aren't people yelling about the grievous 'telling not showing'happening with Kara and Sam?

I'lltell you why: it doesn't get in the way of the Almighty Ship.

Like,there are so many instancesof weak writing and storytelling on this show—it has beenthere from the beginning. That'sthe kind of writing we all signed up for. Now, personally, I feel likethey're getting better at balancing the sheer amount of story theywant to cram into any given episode, but they still haven't shakenall of their bad habits. Singling out the James x Lena romance as anyworse than their usualstorytelling shortcomings seems...hmmm. How shall I put this?Particularly biased.

Now on to some of your additional points: Specifically, I want to address the one about James and Lena disagreeing when it comes to CatCo. You’ve made sure to mention that Lena now owns the company, so I can only assume you feel that this...I don’t know. Gives her some sort of edge in their argument? I would like to remind youthat Lena, by her own admission,does not know what she is doing:

Shockingly,purchasing a company doesn't immediately make you an expert onrunning it.

Who does that leave us with, as the resident expert on running CatCo? That’s right, it’s JAMES OLSEN.

Brieflyentertain the notion that Lena is not perfect so that you may seethat she does not communicate with him,which leads directly to their disagreement and mutualfrustration/annoyance. It is,quite clearly, all Lena’s fault.So this 'open hostility' you keep harping on (which is a subjectiveinterpretation, as all I see is justifiable irritation between two people who have yet to figure out how to talk to each other) isn't based on an underlying hatred, or bias, or disrespect.

It'sa dumb workplace disagreement. Those happen.

(Andif I honestly have to sit here, and explain why arguing the ethics ofadvertorials is not remotely similarto the kind of arguments Kara and Mon-El had throughout season twothen I just. I give up.)

Andlike, look Anon. I agreethat there's not a ton of on-screen development. You are rightin that my 'little recap' shows just how few interactions theyhave—but that is not a good enough reasonto hate on a ship. Sorry. You have no moral high ground to stand on.Sometimes romances are poorly written and developed. (Especially when it happens between two characters who aren’t the lead on the show.) But that doesn't make them unhealthy or toxic. That's why people areliterally making stuff upin order to protest it. 'Fans' are crawling out of the woodwork to tell you howawful James is and as my little recap demonstrated:That simply isn't true.

Also,I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but given the nature of writing fiction: everything is 'forced.' Nothing happens organically.Everything is written/planned well in advance. Chemistry issubjective. The cake is a lie. Han shot first. Natalie Imbruglia's“Torn” is actually a cover.

Iknow, I know. It's a lot to take in.

Finally,your closing statement there: that the fans deserve better. Whichfans, Anon? The ones who routinely flood the James Olsen tag withhateful garbage? The ones who harass actors and writers becausethey're not getting their way? Maybe you mean the fans who were soupset when they felt their shipwas being made fun of, and have now turned around and done the exactsame thing to a ship they don'tlike, behaving like a bunch of obnoxious five-year-olds, name-callingand all?

No,not those ones? Okay, how about the fans who just want to enjoy their fav in peace? You know, the ones who maybe want to log onto a social media site, and not be subjected to a stream of vile comments, many of which amount to ‘they should just kill James off.’ The ones who want to see the guy get more than three minutes of screen time. The ones who are justifiably upset that the show removed him as romantic male lead and would be satisfied with him just BEING INVOLVED IN THE STORY AT ALL, instead of popping up as a supportive background character once every four episodes or so.

Maybe you’re referring to thosefans. To which I say: I think they're probably okay with thisdevelopment. (Of course, I can't speak for everyone, so take that with a grain of salt.)

This show has made it veryclear they have no intention ofacknowledging that Kara x James was ever A Thing, or returning to it.So James getting a different love interest? That could result inan awesome Power Couple, snarking their way through assassinationattempts in their color-coordinating wool coats? Here for it.(Well. As much as someone generally uninterested inrelationships/romance can behere for a 'ship.')

Inconclusion, Anon: James x Lena is happening. To what degree, we don'tknow. I'm fine with it, you're clearly not. And that's okay.You're allowed to not like things.

Butdressing up personal preference as some sort of...self-righteous,progressive crusade against 'problematic' content, and spreading hateful rhetoric that at best, smacks of typicalconfirmation bias and, at worst, outright racism, is notokay.

Justadmit you'd rather see two white ladies bang, and be done with it.

Peace,dude.

#stranger replies #long post #SG post #James Olsen #language warning #Anonymous

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jim-reid · 6 years

Text

Midnight Express

Andrew Perry / Select 01.1993

the nocturnal noise-fest that is the Rollercoaster tour rattles into New York. In the front car, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Curve, and Spiritualized... --On the door, it says "Curve--this one's yours." In the four-star dressing room deep in the bowels of New York City's Roseland Ballroom, the five members of the group are draped around with varying degrees of knackeredness, but a shared, if glazed, look of contentment. Surely they're not enjoying life on the road? Maybe it's because, after two long days without, the band's grass consignment has just come in, and boy, it's a whopper. Only enough to see The Orb through a soundcheck maybe, but to most earthlings, they've got a stash the size of Central Park. Each of them is either skinning up, toking or too stoned to do either. And they only started when they came offstage ten minutes ago. Those Hollywood-style bulbs around the mirror are shining much brighter now. "This is the best tour of my life," gushes Toni Halliday from her pew on the floor, as Dean Garcia looks on from the sofa, quiet and alert. "I mean, the Spiritualized LP is my favourite album of the year, and the Mary Chain are my all-time favourite band. It's perfect. I don't want it to end. We're in tour heaven, basically." But what about the technical hitches, the hangovers, the long drives, the hotel reservations that don't exist, the irregular eating and sleeping patterns, the paranoia, the horror, the soul fear? Something must have gone wrong... Oh, there's a weird guy at the door sporting the sort of rough, fashion-free haircut given to hippies on their first day in Vietnam--the degradation crop. But he looks more than happy as well, showing his teeth in a fixed, almost piss-takingly broad smile. Images from Tom & Jerry spring to mind--Tom just before his shattered teeth tinkle to the floor. "Alright?" someone asks. "What are you doing?" "Just been talking to Jim." He pauses. "Jim The Grin." Hearty giggles all round. Jim Reid maybe? "Yeah, Jim The Grin," he continues poetically, "we should put him in the bin." Hysteria. Tears of merriment. But hang on. That t-shirt's familiar. It's grey like the guy's been wearing it for four years, and the big, black letters on it say 'DRUGS NOT JOBS'. It's Jason Pierce of Spiritualized. He's supposed to be a Black Belt in unremitting miserabilism, so what the hell's he got to smile about? This mustbe tour heaven. Welcome aboard Rollercoaster USA. It could be less hairy than expected. Last time around, you'll recall, when Jim and William Reid arranged Rollercoaster Mk1 for the UK last spring, things weren't quite so rosy. The bands didn't know each other too well, and only the Mary Chain had a fixed position on the bill--at the top, with an enviable light show behind them. The other three acts were switched around every night, the first going on at a vibe-unfriendly 7pm. Nobody wanted to follow My Bloody Valentine's nightmare monochord climax, Blur had to deal with being seen as the joker in the packs, and Dinosaur Jr... Well, they probably didn't get it together to cause much hassle, but what started out with the best, four-way, VFM, brain-blowing intentions seemed to result in tension, confusion and (rumour has it) financial loss. Perhaps shrewder, more realistic planning went into the Stateside venture. The running order doesn't change--Spiritualized at eight, Curve at nine, then the Mary Chain--and that's fine by all concerned. As well as Toni Halliday's seal of approval, Spiritualized boast Jim Reid as one their biggest fans. They just failed to make it off the shortlist on to Rollercoaster UK. Curve and the Mary Chain, meanwhile, go back a long way with their shared production assistant, Alan Moulder, who lives with Toni. "It's so cool," Halliday enthuses, "everybody's just doing their thing, going on and playing. There's no egos or bickering at all. Nobody gives a fuck, really." When the doors open at 7:30, mind, it's not looking so cool. There isn't a queue. The huge, absurdly tanned doorman sings the words "Honey's Dead" with mocking atonality. Presumably this means he doesn't approve of musicians who dress in black and have no muscles. You'd think even Jason and his laissez-faire troupe might take umbrage at hitting the stage in the 3,200 capacity all-standing Roseland to a crowd of precisely five people. It's said, too, that when they've seen ad-posters for the tour, the band have often had to add their name in with marker pens. And they've all had the 'flu. New York's lowlife must've had trouble dragging themselves away from the daily hour of Roseanne on Fox 4 between six and seven. They gradually crawl from the woodwork during Spiritualized's 40 minutes, which acts as a low-key overture to their evening--an understated role for a set that's relaxed but relentlessly ambitious. With a six-strong line-up that includes sax-player Will Gregory, Pierce's arrangements are complex and irrepressibly lavish for a beery nocturnal noise-fest. They begin with a new gem, featuring Sean Cook on the bluest harmonica in North America, and soon pump out the fluctuating aural dazzle of 'Medication', 'Angel Sigh' and a cracking version of Spacemen 3's 'Walkin' with Jesus'. Still, it's clouded--and we aren't talking little fluffy ones here--by the fact that they don't have time to kill between numbers to get things right. When Jason straps on a fresh axe for the finale, his amp instantly packs up. Exit Spiritualized, tangibly pissed-off. 'Wouldn't It Be Nice' by The Beach Boys comes over the PA. Even with three bands who are mates instead of four who aren't, and without the chaos of a rotating bill, Rollercoaster's US sibling is proving a bit of problem child. "It's a waste of time comparing the two tours," claims Jim Reid after the show. "This one shouldn't have been called Rollercoaster, it was a misunderstanding." "We didn't want Rollercoaster to become like Lollapalooza--every fuckin' year," adds brother William, heaving a sigh that'd fill a petrol tank. "No thank you. We don't want it to become an international institution. This is just a bunch of bands touring together--that's the way I see it. If we'd called it Shindig, it'd still be the same." The Mary Chain, notoriously road-shy but permanently touring since February, had a pretty bad time on this summer's Lollapalooza. They had little say in the travelling festival's wider aims and had to perform among macho, MTV-hungry stagers like Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and the Chili Peppers--in daylight. Perhaps their idyll has taken a bit of a kicking in '92, but they're clearly trying to offer a better class of tour here, with a crap-support exclusion policy and good music in between (from The Pastels and Pixies to The Rolling Stones and Rod Stewart). Surely they're after a sense of event? "Aye, most gigs are too boring," Jim agrees, warming with anger. "People don't give it any consideration. The band come off, the lights go up and everybody's standing around with pints of beer. Anything to get away from that. We thought of keeping the house lights down, putting coloured strobes in the audience and cranking up the music like it's a club or something." "Did we do that tonight?" William asks. Jim: "No, I was just saying..." William: "No, but you remember we told them..." Jim: "Pfff..." William: "We give people these elaborate instructions, and they ignore them and do what the fuck they want anyway." You wouldn't guess it, but Curve's tour hasn't been blemish-free. Last night Lawrence Taylor, their ligthing man, heard his wife was seriously ill and had to fly home. Without him, their illumination is in some disarray--mid-way through, they're playing under the glare of two hand-held torches. It's rather effective, because as a live combo they're in outrageously fine fettle, blasting off with 'Doppleganger' and 'Die Like A Dog', cooling down on mellower stuff like 'Sandpit' and slamming to the end with 'Coast Is Clear', 'Fait Accompli' and 'Ten Little Girls'. Often regaled as callous and calculated, they have a warm presence that's reciprocated by a now extensive moshpit which incorporates every race, age and sexual denomination. At one point, a ten-year-old black girl surfs overhead. Great, well-received shows like this probably explain best why these bands are so into Rollercoaster USA. Later, the brothers Reid will have to admit, however grudgingly, that they're in shit-hot form too. In England, they have that ancient reputation for riots and shambolic behaviour to live up to, but as anyone who saw their early gigs will testify, they were (very exciting) rubbish in those days. Their streamlined barrage of abandoned riff trash and bloody noise owes its roots to junkpile Americana, so the Yanks are far readier to tip their hat in appreciation. Though Jim has to get quietly plastered every night of the tour, to forget the organisational horrors and erode his stage fright, the Reids swagger with regal arrogance--and when they do 'Gimme Hell' and Bo Diddley's 'Who Do You Love' they're like Louis XIV and Frederick The Great. Blasphemous, evil kings. With a white-noise flurry of televisual litter flickering on the screen behind him, William desecrates the final 'Kill Surf City' with feedback atrocities, and does the same to the unbelievable encore, 'Reverence'. What'll happen when they do all this down South, down in redneck Texas? Jim may get his death wish. Maybe they'll all die in the USA. And so the Rollercoaster roars on to Washington DC, but not before calling in at The Mission, a gothy East Village bar. All three bands continue to knock it back copiously in pals-only surroundings. Toni's especially happy when the Banshees' 'Helter Skelter' gets an airing. Somewhere along the line, she also loses her purse. Curve and the Mary Chain convene in their hotel foyer the next morning--OK, call it 5pm. There are plenty of sorry, whiskey-wounded faces. Not Toni's. "I shouldn't feel like this," she beams from behind circular mirror shades. "We've lost Lawrence, I've lost all my money, cards and everything, but I'm loving every minute of it. We just wanna do a tour as good as this at home."

#interview

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